Lessons
by jilligor
Summary: NOTE: Not a GENUINE House fic - House & Wilson are included but mostly it's a bunch of "boys" i like...surnames dropped...in a boarding school as teens. Comedy turning into angst and fluff. Some slashy smut too!
1. Chapter 1

**PLEASE NOTE: This isn't an actual HOUSE MD fanfic** – they are characters in it, mostly House, but the main characters are just a bunch of hormonally charged and smartly stupid/stupidly smart male characters based on various people I won't name specifically (but some people may identify them on their own… if not, just enjoy the anonymity and imagine your own…).

**Title: Lesson One: How To Deal With Your Psychotic Roommate  
**Rating/Warnings: PG/PG-13 for language right now - may get higher later. Pretty tame here.

Feedback: Please do, if ya don't mind...

Disclaimer: Dr. House and (eventually) Wilson are not my characters. Other than those fictional beings, which I've warped for my own story, I KNOW NO ONE mentioned in here - not the real people, anyway. The characters are just that - fictional characters with the real peoples' names, but in no way do i mean any harm or, um, assumed personality quirks (re: disorders) to be associated with the actual living person themselves......ahem. that is all.

Matthew:

I live with insanity.

I do not speak these words lightly, my friends. For I do know what true insanity looks like, and believe you me, it's no laughing matter.

Well, try telling that to an aged cynic with a penchant for offending everyone around himself – and a few some miles away just by perhaps an airborne virus only he exudes – and you'll end up like I did. Nearly halfway to a bloody nuthouse meself! And only because the geezer I was stupid enough to confide in... Well, he was just looking for a laugh, I believe; I don't truly think he meant it when he said _I_ was the one needing to be locked up, but one of the other teachers must have overheard and taken something a bit too seriously...

In any case, children, don't listen when adults tell you to go to a trusted teacher for help when you feel like there's nowhere else to turn – at least, not _this_ teacher, because he'll bloody well just take anything he finds the least bit entertaining or amusing in what you say and use it against you...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Best to start at the beginning. 

It was my second year at the boarding school. I'd spent the first attempting to convince my peers I was not a prepubescent girl genius, but a highly under-developed sixteen-year-old young man. Yet the illusion of my gender-switched twelve-year existence (with the mind of one twice my _true_ age) was fed by being paired up in a living space with – well – Sasquatch.

A real, living Sasquatch, right in my own bedroom! I was halfway between writing a bloody article to every science (or science fiction) magazine I knew of, and shitting myself every time the bugger stood up.

Luckily the beast was subdued quite easily with many options of comfort – well, comfort suited for the normal, average male, anyway. No nagging, telly blaring whatever sports programme was running at the time (preferably football, though tennis, basketball, and even – God help him – golf was acceptable as well), and a cleverly smuggled lager would put him at ease for an entire night. On evenings when athletics were not broadcast, he would kindly allow me the pleasure of switching from my headphones, which only played classical, to the mutual stereo – as long as it was hard and loud. A perfect switch for both of us, those nights, so our year together as roommates passed by without incident.

I study better when not concentrating anyway.

My second year, then, started out on a most unusual note.

I arrived at the dorms late in the afternoon, certainly hours after our intended "check-in" time, and found my room – found it to already be occupied, that is, which was no problem of course, considering I know I have a tendency to be tardy on a regular basis (it's one of the only consistencies about me). I'd fully expected my partner for this year to have already been present and waiting – perhaps already with the telly on and blaring the game...

The expected mammoth, however, was not present in my assigned room. Instead, I waltzed unceremoniously into the dorm, followed by my lagging, bag-ridden father as a packhorse, to confront an entirely new form of man all together.

I still debate whether I suspected from the off that he was not the same species as myself, despite the convincing human-like shell, but I'm pretty sure I knew _something_ was different about him.

And not just because he looked like puberty had taken hold at age eight and he was still losing a never-ending battle against stubble. (At seventeen, he could've grown a beard faster than anyone around us, including Sasquatch – our ancestors of the Old Testament would have wept with pride...)

He seemed innocuous enough – sitting on top of his neatly spread duvet, reading some fantasy novel or other, looking up with eyes only comparable to my own in color, but not nearly as surprised.

His accent was obvious as soon as he greeted me with a friendly smile and explanation: "There was a mix-up at the enrollment office, so I'm afraid to say your roommate got bumped to another location. Sorry you got stuck with me, mate."

The first twenty minutes or so were relatively plain, uneventful. He was already moved in, though not fully unpacked, so he kindly offered, despite an obvious (though unexplained, therefore mysterious) limp, to help my father fetch the rest of my belongings whilst I got re-acclimated to my familiar surroundings.

After I was settled and feeling comfortable again, my father thanked the "polite young man" and started on the long journey home.

We were alone. And so the bizarre nature began to leak out.

Now, let me say from the start that I was never in fear for my safety or life; though the perfectly sculpted arms (which put my own rails to shame) could have, I never once thought he would ever attempt a beat-down on the likes of _me_ – perhaps, it occurs to me now, it was not only his easy-going demeanor that kept him in check at all times, but the sincere knowledge that picking a fight with me would only be unfair, unnecessary carnage.

No pride in cowardice.

No honor in such a lack of a challenge.

No gain in poisoning a terminal patient.

Swatting at a gnat.

You get the picture. He wasn't Sasquatch – but he wasn't gunning to be labeled a bully either, though he could have easily pulled it off if he'd had an inkling of interest to do so.

In other words, if I haven't been clear, I'm quite small. And despite my new roommate's few inches of height over me (only a _few_!), he was... not quite as small. Healthy, more fit than the average seventeen-year-old male, lean but hard-looking.

I could have sported a garter and fishnets and someone, somewhere, would have yelled "BP!!" A twelve-year-old girl, indeed – without the tits.

We could've made a cute couple, in fact. Except we never had eyes for each other.

But I digress...

As he was already comfortable enough to lounge on his bed and continue to read quietly as I, ever-busy, unpacked my essential belongings, I decided to engage him in some friendly but light conversation.

"So what's wrong with ya?"

He peered up from his pages to stare at me quizzically, noticed my unflattering impersonation of his limp, then laughed with a candid good nature.

"Ah, right – broke me foot over summer. It was cast for a few weeks, only got it off last month. Still have to walk with a cane for a while," and he lifted said aid from the bed for me to see.

Setting it aside again, he sighed, "Not normally that accident-prone, but I guess I just wasn't payin' attention..."

As he said this, I unwittingly upended two of my bags – fortunately only containing clothes – onto the floor from my bed. At the sudden _WHUMP!_ and my casual dismissal of the noise, I could feel his eyes piercing the back of my skull.

"I take it you're not quite as fortunate."

I half turned to glance at him, uttering a brilliant, "Whu?" and knocked over the bottle of water I'd brought up with me with a misplaced, jutting elbow.

As I attempted to tidy that mess, he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of me from his position.

"Eh, despite your apparent troubles with balance, think you could spare some leverage my way to get a poster up?"

Being a typical teenage boy, I thought nothing of this request – of course we all tend to display images and portraits of things we admire, people or concepts we hold close to our hearts, imaginations, our dreams...

So when I helped him flip the flimsy material against the wall, me just barely staying erect on two feet and him wobbly at best as he leaned all his weight on one good foot, I was nearly sent to the floor in shock and seizures.

Despite my unintentional bowing-out (or "_stumbling_-out," actually), my new roommie succeeded in getting the poster up over his bed, and I was rendered immobile and speechless as I gaped from my back on the floor – right up into the dazzling yet disturbing grin of one paper-thin Celine Dion.

Celine... fucking... spaghetti-shaped... Dion.

The only ray of hope was the very obvious graffiti on the poster: Magic-Markered devil horns and the words "REPENT OR DIE!!" scrawled boldly over her manly, white suit outfit.

As I gawked at him, he stood over me on the bed and explained with an impish smirk, "Gotta keep the enemies closer, eh? Keep that vile, vicious hatred brewin' just under the surface. Y'know. Motivation." He gestured to the faux-French lounge queen and hissed, easing back down to his mattress, "Vengeance _will_ be ours, mate! Against her and all the others who've turned music into talentless, meaningless, marketable _shite!_"

This was wake-up call number one that my new dorm partner was a bit off his rocker...

Dr. House, science/biology/chemistry:

The day was more than half over when the spastic twerp came to me after class, requesting to have a "private audience" with what he called "a trusted adult."

And once he finished with only his _first_ set of circumstances which, he insisted, would contribute to the theory that his new roommate was "disturbed," I felt like I was ready for bed.

When the first part of his story was over and I took a moment to let it sink in, leaning forward on my desk and propping my head up with folded hands, he peered at me with those enormous blue eyes and, as if not even hearing the tempting strains of his classmates' voices shouting to each other as they left the building which housed my classroom (among many others), waited for some kind of response from me.

The sun was out; the birds were chirping; the boys' jovial moods were audible through slightly open windows. And this nutcase with a paranoia stick up his arse was sitting indoors, trying to get _me_ to admit to something... which actually, I pretty much knew anyway – but it was nothing to be getting so high-strung about.

"So," I began, measuring my words carefully so he wouldn't think I was just brushing him off – God help me if he tried to come back again to "convince" me otherwise... "You believe Simon has some psychological issues..."

Immediately he began nodding his dark head, without question – perfectly confident and committed to this new nuisance in my life.

"...because he put up a poster of a questionably attractive female in his bedroom."

A pause, then a maniacally blurted, "But it wasn't for that! It's not that he _likes_ her or anything – he most certainly doesn't, he loathes her with a passion, I think, as well as many others like her."

"So you're afraid because..." I squinted, giving the impression that I was truly considering the dilemma. "...you think he's harboring violent impulses, perhaps? Towards those he despises?"

"Well, no, it's not like that – I mean, I certainly agree with him, I understand his purpose behind it... Sort of... It's just..." He winced. "Why would you _do_ that to yourself!?"

I take another moment, rubbing my hands together before wiping my face with them in exasperation. "And this is the very important thing you had to tell me? That he has bad taste in poster art?"

"Well, no, see, that's just the first thing. There are other things too--"

"Oh, please _do_ go on," I muttered sarcastically – and, of course, the sarcasm was lost on the earnest boy.

"Well, maybe it's a bit risky to mention," he went on, rather eagerly for someone who also looked timid to bring it up, "but I figure, you know, you're not one of those typical traditional instructors--"

I raised my eyebrows at this; was this the new title for me now? Was it brewing amongst the rest of the classes as well? I decided then that a dunce cap and whipping switch was in order for my next class...

"--so maybe you'd, like, be cool about it, knowin' kids our age aren't so innocent and all anymore--"

"Matthew, what are you _not_ trying to say, please?"

There was a moment of hesitation – dear God, why did he have to drag it out? - before he finally asked, "This _is_ all confidential, yes?"

"Yes, Matthew," I groaned, holding my head in my hands, at the same time thanking any higher power for not burdening me with the task of fathering this particular brand of English youth. "This is confidential. I won't go running to the dean to tell him you braindead maggots do dope – I'm sure if he found out, he'd probably just ask you for some himself."

He paused for a moment to look perfectly surprised, then shook his head, as if shaking himself out of a dream. "Ah. Well, then... See, I'm sure you know, he's done quite well so far in all his classes – including chemistry..."

"Yes, he's almost _too_ good at mixing his chemicals," I uttered, more to myself than to the frantic student in front of me.

"Then you know! And you know what? He's even _better_ at understanding it – to the point of actually explaining it to my mate Chris, and having _Chris_ understand it – after he's done a whole bowl himself!"

I blinked; truly, this was an actual surprise to me as well. No sarcasm at all. I was... impressed. "Really?"

"Yes! He's practically a master at it!"

"He got _Chris_ to look at a _textbook?_"

Matthew slumped in his chair, eyes going narrow, mouth squirming into a deflated frown. "Well, if that's what you want to focus on--"

"No, no, I'm sorry. Go ahead."

He cleared his throat, eyes darting around sheepishly before admitting shakily, "And... well... H-He says... When he's... y'know... high like that..." And he mumbled something incoherent – which wasn't that unusual for him; but for Matthew, his incoherence typically came in the form of speaking entirely too quickly – this time, however, he actually _mumbled_, as in, hardly formed his words at all.

I leaned in over the desk, directing my ear towards him. "What was that?"

He drew in a deep breath, clearly not keen on repeating himself, but did so nonetheless: "He... can't see the unicorns... when he's high."

Slowly I turned my head back to face him, eyebrows lifted high on my head as I nodded. "Ah-ha. Yes. I see. Well, it's a good thing you brought this to my attention, we certainly have a psychopath in our midst--"

"No, it--" He cut himself off mid-whine and shrugged helplessly. "See, I knew it would sound weird to say it, but really – just hear me out!"

"Oh, I don't think I need to hear anymore, Matthew – he's clearly a raving _lunatic_, this roommate of yours, so it's best we sort this out right away--"

"It's just that he says he can't see them when he's baked!" the boy wailed. "But that's not the end of it! The rest is that when we're all sober, _that's_ when he starts askin' us why we're so blind that we can't see what's right in front of us!"

I smirked, chuckling down morbidly into my desktop and rubbing my temples.

"See, I knew you wouldn't take me seriously--"

"Oh, Matthew – I do," I assured him, lifting my head to look at him squarely again. Seeing the pathetic expression on his worried face actually touched me – at least, in so much as it kept me from completely bursting out laughing at it. Instead, I kept it down to a slight snicker and a mere, "Matt, did you ever think that... well... maybe Simon is having a bit of fun with you? When he says those things? When he's sober?"

Matthew scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, pouting childishly. "Blimey, seems like that bloke's _always_ tryin' to have a bit of fun with me, actually. Just thought maybe I'd give a go at gettin' him back for it for a change... All those bloody wordplay games he's always doin' 'round me, just to make me say, `Whu?' Bloody bugger..."

"Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Matthew, but yes, I know your roommate well enough by now to assure you – he's not insane. He merely has a very active imagination – as do you, I might add. My advice to you is not to take it personally; believe me, he does that to everyone."

He glanced furtively at me, cocking a thick eyebrow in question. "Everyone?"

I coughed self-consciously, rolling my eyes. "_Everyone_. He doesn't mean any harm by it. He's just playing. Actually, I'd think that two such clever minds existing in such close proximity to each other would be an extremely nurturing environment for your creativity – both of you. Stop worrying so much about one-upping each other – I can tell you right now, it's the furthest thing from _his_ mind. Try to inspire him instead, maybe let yourself be inspired too. Fuck, if it suits you both, just give each other blow jobs for all I care – just leave _me_ alone, will you!?"

He'd begun to seem pretty agreeable to my advice... at first. But when the last part slipped out, for some odd reason, the most disturbed, disgusted expression overtook his delicate features – and I was once again reduced to laughing at the poor child as he leapt from the chair in front of my desk and visibly shuddered.

"There will be no _blow jobs_ for _anyone_ I live with!" he exclaimed, gagging as he left the room to my oh-so-subtle reminding shout that our conversation had been confidential.

Just as I was going to let myself relax and enjoy my solitude, the door reopened and the rambling nutcase was poking his head back inside my office.

"What is it now, Matthew?" I growled, not even bothering to put on a professional air anymore.

"I didn't tell you about the aliens!"

Well, it hardly piqued my interest, but his voice was so urgent, I _had_ to react somehow.

I reached down for the cane by my desk and hurled it across the room at the door. "Will you get out of here!? Go play football with the others, get some exercise like a normal, healthy teenage boy, will you!? Quit hounding me with alien-speak and loony-talk, I have too much to deal with--"

"He says they breathe carbon dioxide!" he insisted, cleverly dodging my cane and charging my desk again at full-speed, both body and mouth, until he was literally _there_, right in front of me, hands planted on the desktop and wide, fervent eyes only inches from my own. "He keeps insisting they're white, which is just insane – everyone knows they're gray! At least he never tried pushing the _green_ thing, that's just _stupid!_ But he _insists_ that they feed off the carbon dioxide we breathe out, which is why they've been able to live amongst us for so long without being noticed, but _I_ say that's simply preposterous, why would they use _that_ when there's certainly so many other more dangerous gaseous chemicals to choose from in our atmosphere by now – why else were they unable to come here at all until the last century or so? After all our industrial waste and--"

I couldn't take anymore; I reached up and slapped a hand over the still-running motormouth, causing the unmeasured flow of jargon to eventually abate. When he was finally silenced, I pointed my free index finger to his eyes and warned, "Not... another... word. Turn around, march straight for that door, and I don't want to see your face again until class tomorrow. Understood?"

Exasperation shone in his huge, unbelieving eyes, but the heavy sigh he let out was one of defeat. He nodded reluctantly, and I slowly removed my hand.

"Bu--"

"_Matt!"  
_  
Shoulders slumping, he groaned noisily and swung himself around, stomping all the way to the door. A slight pause, then a surly, "Well, I _am_ right about the aliens," and he made sure to slam the door behind him as he left me in – damn well-deserved – peace.

Bloody hell. Every year these boys get weirder.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Lesson Two: How To Prepare For Combat

Warning/Rating: PG/PG-13 for language, slight slashy hints here and there (Pre-revision)

Feedback: is most welcome.

Disclaimer: I've known kids who loved doing this, but not the kids I portray doing it in here. (does that make sense?)

Matt:

I'll be honest and up-front from the off: I did not focus much energy my first year at the boarding school towards any social aspects. Maybe I was a bit too shy at the time – or maybe I was just too busy trying to study in order to prove that I _did_ belong in the top classes and wasn't just in the wrong rooms at the wrong times. Dom and I had known each other from school before being shipped off, so it was a comfort when I saw a familiar face. We hadn't known anyone else but Chris, who was also from our old area, but most of the boys had come from more populated locations of England than Devon. So the three of us had become quite close that first year. It was nice to have a bit of an extended family away from home.

The downside, however, was that none of us had really gotten to know many of the other boys. Chris had been put in different classes, so he knew more people than Dom and I had, but the two of us were practically like new students when we returned our second year. Over the summer holidays, then, Chris had met up several times with some of his _own_ classmates, thereby growing his own circle of friends. This meant that coming in, Dom and I felt even more alien than before – our third space cadet was getting to _know_ people. The year-old strangers to this familiar environment were a bit surprised that we were the only ones, it seemed, to be as isolated as we were.

My roommate, on the flipside, seemed to know everyone in the entire bloody school itself – first through third years, faculty, staff. He knew the teachers by first _and_ last names, even the ones we had second year, before we even had them – despite the fact that the most contact we'd had with them the year before had been if they'd chased us round the grounds with a switch for not being in class.

I supposed he was just one of those guys who got around, got along with everyone, considering he was from Scotland yet was attending an English boarding school. Of course when I first saw him sitting on the bed that first day I moved in, I recognised and remembered him from our classes together the year before – but then, most people would know one of the top students in their own class, right? I'd known who he was – I just didn't _know_ him. (Or what kind of potential madman he could become...)

I myself was also a top student, but I'd been too shy, too quiet to really strike up any kind of friendship with any teachers or other kids. I'd worked really hard to be one of the top ten kids with the highest grades. For him, I found in our second year, it was almost _too_ easy.

See, I don't think I judge people very much; or, as Dom says, if I do, I tend to have _bad_ judgment (hence my "mysterious" disappearance at a particular music festival we'd attended that summer, only to turn up two days later to inform Dom that teenagers in England can be quite scary sometimes... but they still carry excellent hash). But I think I can tell pretty accurately when I meet an intelligent person. Dom's always struck me as intelligent, but he doesn't like to work too hard except at things that interest him. Chris is by no means dumb, and he works really hard in certain classes, like music, because, like Dom, those things interest him; but he's not very academically inclined, let's say, so that's how he ended up in classes that are less intense than the ones Dom and I are part of. (But even he can start to grasp chemistry if someone like Simon is explaining it to him.) Still, Chris does tend to be geared more toward sports and the like.

Of course I enjoy a fun, laid-back game of football as much as the next teenage boy. But I've always tended more toward other subjects just by preference – science, music, literature.

Some people, though, seem to be modern-day Renaissance men, and in a way I found myself envying my new roommate that second year, as he seemed to quite easily be one of these special people whom everyone likes, who can do almost anything he sets out to do. As if he had no fears whatsoever – whilst I was riddled with phobias and uncertainties. It felt almost _unfair_, actually.

So it was no surprise at all to me, but a bit of a mystery, that first week when, during lunch, I caught sight of several random boys running up to Simon (who was, as usual, hanging out with the red-haired twins he'd dragged along from Scotland – it's never been proven, but we all suspected from the beginning that coming here hadn't been _their_ choice), asking something quietly, then racing away all giddy and excited, like his matter-of-fact nod was some confidential confirmation of Christ's second coming.

As always, I was sitting with my two best mates – and since Chris had been one of those apparently in on this curious secret, I had to inevitably turn to his half-grinning face and demand, "So what's all the hullabaloo about?"

Right in the middle of a conversation he and Dom were carrying on about some test the poor bloke was worried about – hardly any of my concern, of course.

"Sorry, mate," I apologised as soon as I heard Dom give that exasperated sigh that signaled I was being impolite and obnoxious again. "Go on."

"No, 's okay," the large boy assured me, eager to get away from the topic his surrogate mother seemed to be nagging him about.

Dom rolled his eyes, arms folded firmly across his chest, and shook his head as he gave up on pestering the "lazy lout" (like he should talk!) for not studying more the night before (as a result of the glitch in the enrollment office, Chris had been bumped from my room – straight into Dom's... apples don't fall very far... or something like that... you know...).

Instead, Chris started yammering on like – well – okay, like a _schoolboy_ about some stupid fantasy-adventure game everyone was gearing up to go play that afternoon when classes were over. I almost regretted asking in the first place, and exchanged condescending glances with Dom before turning them both on our younger – though much bigger – mate.

"What?" he whined. "So we like mucking about, so what? Oh, come on," he went on when he saw neither of us were convinced. "You two are so bloody _stiff_, I swear – and not in the good way..."

I let out a choked scoff at that, highly insulted at the impotence insinuation, but Dom didn't really seem to take his words too seriously.

"Well, maybe some of us have better things to do than go running 'round in forests, getting bitten up by bugs--"

"Oh, but that hardly even matters, really," Chris insisted, waving away the menial concern. "You stop noticing the bites once you start gettin' clobbered with sticks--"

"Oh, even better," Dom groaned.

"Look, I know it sounds weird, right? But they started doin' this – well, a few of them were doing it all last year, but most of us missed out on it 'cause they kept it kind of quiet. But this year, more people heard about it and started gettin' interested, right? So I was talkin' to James 'n Ben" (the redheaded terrors) "in class last week, and they invited me to go out. So I did. And you know what? It was really a lotta fun! You two should totally come out and give it a go tonight, really – maybe it'll loosen up your tight arses for once."

After that grandiose speech from the typically silent Sasquatch, Dom and I couldn't help but glance at each other again – this time with vague interest. But not nearly enough to entice us into venturing out into the forest in the afternoon heat with a bunch of boys we really only kind-of knew, if not by name then just by face...

And then Chris hit the bull's eye:

Sighing heavily, he waved dismissively at us. "Eh, y'know what? Never mind. You two wouldn't enjoy it – it's probably too much, y'know? All that runnin' 'round 'n chasin' 'n fightin'... Nah, you're right, forget it. Not up your alleys, I get it. Besides, could you see you two swingin' swords? Ha! Now _that's_ funny..."

The two of us once again looked to each other for a reaction – and then turned our mutual heated glares onto our buddy, ready to take on the mammoth right there and then.

"We're coming with you," I told him in a venomous snarl.

"I'll show you what's funny," Dom added viciously, "when I shove one of those fake wooden swords right up your arse, you bitch!"

Chris held up his hands in defense, eyes wide but grin even wider. "Whoa, whoa, calm down, mates – okay, fine, you wanna prove me wrong? Fine, you can come with me, I don't mind."

Bloody little bugger – of course I wasn't going to back out now, but as soon as he said that, I knew... Oh, no way in hell was Chris _dumb_ – he knew exactly how to play me and Dom like fiddles. Eating right out of that huge hand of his. Just say "no" and we were all over it – he knew us too well.

"I don't think Simon'll mind either."

At this, my ears pricked up. "Simon?"

Yes, Simon. The Renaissance man himself. The mad minstrel, the silly sod, the ridiculous role model of rhetoric – all names he'd playfully used to refer to himself in that first week we'd spent together, mind.

And that afternoon, after Chris had instructed Dom and me to dress in our oldest, least valuable clothing – preferably something plain that could possibly pass for, say, beggars or something – and dragged us out to the forest, we came upon the rather large group of boys who had all come together to enact some sort of unknown, unnamed battle from centuries before.

And there above all of them, seated precariously atop one of a number of huge, strangely placed rocks (strange mostly in the fact that they were arranged almost perfectly to resemble some kind of housing structure, like a makeshift castle made by giants), was Simon. Dressed from shoulders to ankles in what had to be the grubbiest and rattiest, forest green soft leather I'd ever seen. It was lucky to still _be_ green, actually.

As we approached, Dom and I muttered to each other, pointing out the faces we recognised with sticks we'd picked up randomly on our trek through the trees, and trying to remember names. Helped along by Chris, of course, who put in at one point, when Dom gestured to a rather short but well-built young man with very round eyes and very dark hair, "That's little Chris – you might hear some of 'em callin' me _big_ Chris. That's how we tell each other apart – y'know, 'cause he's short and I'm--"

"Sasquatch."

"Cheers, Matt."

"Well, I think some here could give Chris a run for his money," Dom put in, nodding at the taller bloke with ridiculously curly hair standing next to "little" Chris.

"Nah," Chris insisted. "That's Tom, he's in my class. And I got him beat, no contest."

Dom and I raised our eyebrows at each other – this is what Chris would tell everybody when he had a slight bit of doubt hiding somewhere in his mind: "no contest, sure thing." Right, Chris, keep tellin' yourself that...

As he led us up to "The Rock" to "induct" us into the "clan," Chris kept glancing over at us worriedly – I couldn't tell if he was worried that we'd get squashed amongst so many other boys who were all bigger than us in some way... or if he was just worried we'd laugh at him.

But the more I saw, the more I became impressed: these guys really went all-out. Some of their "old clothes" and "fighting gear" was hardly worthy of those titles – some were downright bloody _intricate_. Some boys were sitting round, chatting about their assignments and monster teachers; and some were sharpening sticks, testing fake shields, and speaking like they were in some bloody Renaissance faire!

Passing by the duo we'd spotted before, I caught "little Chris" bitching to the taller bloke, in a tone that was testy but obviously teasing – and intentionally loud enough for the intended recipient to hear, though he wasn't "_supposed"_ to hear it - "Why's Simon always get to be Robin Hood anyway?"

Picking up the rather cheesy hint, Simon lifted his head from the string he was busy tying to a stick. "Because, of course, the little-known fact is that Robin Hood was actually Scottish."

Little Chris rolled his eyes, smirking sardonically, and planted a hand on his hip. "Oh, come off it already, he was not!"

"I said it was a little-known fact--"

"You're so full of it, you twat! What about _Nottingham_? Fake!"

"Shut it!" Simon sniped back. "He was so! And if you're so obsessed with Nottingham, then why haven't _you_ claimed to be the evil sheriff yet? Mister Nottingham himself!"

"Good one, Si," came the voice of one of the redheads as James, the one with the long hair, came up behind his mate and leaned over the rock. Eerily enough, just as he got settled, the other one (who had, perhaps in an attempt to look less like his twin, hacked off all his hair over summer) crawled up on Simon's other side – even with the different haircuts, it was creepy to see the two of them poised in exactly the same positions on either side of this dark-haired bloke with the uncontrollable stubble, even if they hadn't meant to.

"But," James went on, "I have to play devil's advocate here and point out – you also say Jesus was actually Scottish."

Without wavering, Si nodded. "He _was_."

The other twin – Ben – scoffed noisily at this and shook his head. "Jesus was a black man, you retard!"

"He was _Scottish!_ Goddamn, Ben, be a bit prouder of your heritage, man!"

"I'm not _not_ proud, mate, I just feel we have to remind you sometimes that not every legend in the history of the world was from Scotl--"

Simon whirled on his crony and barked, "He was _Scottish!_"

Finally, I broke down – forget all the shyness, forget the fear of being one tiny thing in a group of much larger men. I had to add _something_ to this ridiculous debate.

"Er, no, actually – you're all wrong – Jesus was Middle Eastern, actually--"

Simon craned his neck forward to see me over the side of the rock, and when he saw who was correcting him this time, he smiled playfully. "Was not, he was Scottish – he was actually the inventor of haggis, you know."

I narrowed my eyes at him and deadpanned, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah!" With one sharp nudge, he swiftly slid down the rest of the rock and landed on his feet on the ground in front of me, all smiles and sparkling eyes. "Why d'you think they crucified 'im?" He glanced down, noticing the long bit of wood still dangling from my fingers. "Here, I got some string, let me fix you a bow--"

But before he could reach up for his supplies, I held the stick up and cringed as I sized it up again. "I dunno – I think this thing is too big to be a bow for me..."

He tilted his head to the side as he studied it, then shrugged it off. "'S awright, maybe just use a dagger." He pulled something out of a back pocket and shoved it into my hand. "Here, use one a' mine."

I stared down at the small oval object in my hand, quirking an eyebrow as I pressed the shiny button and the blade flicked out. I glared up at him dully.

"What?"

"What's this s'posed to be?"

"Ehm... It's a... pocket knife?"

"It's a bloody toenail blade, you dolt."

He bit back a grin, trying not to laugh. "Ehm... So? You can be a hobbit."

I rolled my eyes, gripping my stick closer to me – but not giving him back the "blade" either. I let my gaze wander around vaguely, taking in, in greater detail, the other fighters in this little charade. One in particular caught my eye – a rolled-up brown lump taking refuge underneath the shade of another rock jutting out overhead. I peeked in closer and caught a faint whiff of alcohol.

"Er – what's the drooling lump in the corner supposed to be?"

Simon glanced over, but only for a second before turning back to finish stringing his bow. "Oh, right – that's Friar Liam Upchuck. Y'know, the good friar's always gotta be pissed to stay in character..."

A resounding snore seemed to confirm this statement.

"What about me, then?" asked the taller bloke standing with little Chris. "It's been a few minutes. You thought of anythin' yet?"

Simon blinked, as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh right! Sorry, mate. Aye, you can be the friendly dumb giant..." He nodded towards big Chris and added, "As opposed to the violent dumb giant."

Tom squinted, glancing up at the sky. "Er... I think I might be insulted..."

Big Chris slapped the skinnier bloke on the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. "Don't be, mate – he won't wail on you with that bloody bow if you're friendly." To my surprise, Chris actually winced as he reached to rub the back of his upper right arm. "Nasty little bugger..."

"Right! Everyone pay attention!" Simon was back up on his rock again, waving frantically at his mini army and then studying us all individually, as if sizing up his options. "So – Robin Hood and his merry twins... Friendly dumb giant... Violent dumb gi—Chris! You're on the other side!"

Chris gasped, smacking his forehead. "Sorry! My mistake! I was just bringin' these two here--"  
And as he scurried off around the huge pile of rocks, Dom and I glanced at each other with wide, horrified eyes...

Chris was on the _other_ side!? How many other bastards were _playing_ this stupid game!? And... And... And _Chris_ was supposed to be our _enemy!?_ Forget saving our friendship – Dom and I wanted to escape with our _lives!_

But Simon was ignoring our quiet fear, continuing to count off his men without a care in the world to our dilemma: "Wanna-be Sheriff of Notthingham--"

"Oi!"

"Orlando Doom – I still think that's a stupid name, mate--"

"It _works_, I tell you!"

"Whatever... Obi-wan--"

James put up a hand. "I still say genre-mixing's a bad idea--"

"And I still say," came Ewan's voice from the back of the small group, "that you're the Evil Twin."

"Please, boys, please," Simon cut in, sounding fed up already. "How many hours are we going to devote to bad `Yo' mama' jokes? I approved the massive reality leap, James, let it go already. All right – who else? Ehm, Friar Upchuck--"

_Burp_.

"--aaaaand, a hobbit. Aw'right, seems fair to me--"

Dom put his hand in the air instantly. "I could be a wizard – like Merlin or something..."

Simon's eyes came to rest on my best mate, and as he studied him, I almost felt myself feeling Dom's anxiety. Like being tested – acceptance or rejection – rated by a mere once-over...

"...Mmmm..." At least Simon took the time to _seem_ like he was thinking it over seriously. And then finally, "No."

Dom gaped at him, somehow having gotten so absorbed by all of this that he looked and sounded genuinely insulted when he blurted, "_No!?_ What d'you mean, _no!?_ I'm not allowed to play? Look at Matt! How the fuck'd _he_ get in when--"

"Oi!" If only the smack to his shoulder could have been more powerful than a pinecone falling from a tree... "Cheers, mate!"

"I'm just _saying_--"

"Who said y'couldn't play?" Simon cut in. "No, no, anyone can _play_. I jus' don't see y'as a wizard."

Dom immediately settled himself – though now _I_ was feeling a bit red in the face myself...

"Oh. Well then wh--"

"See, wizards're s'posed to be, like, old grey things, eh? Kinda wrinkly, wizzened guys. Hence the name. You're not even close to resemblin' an ugly old fucker like 'at, eh? You're far better-lookin' than that."

Dom blinked several times, surprised by the compliment. In fact, I was a bit shocked myself. Not just at Simon's words – but at the sudden sharp twinge of... _something_ in my gut that started when I got a strange feeling that someone else was being rather flattering towards... well... _my_ best mate.

I squared my shoulders and squinted my eyes, readying myself to start spitting (worthless) threats at my new roommate if he continued on this line of... erm... friendliness.

Dom sniffed and straightened a bit, smiling sheepishly as Simon turned to Ben and gestured to him for something. "Um... Okay... So then what should I..."

"Here," Simon ordered as Ben handed him a satchel full of handmade wooden arrows with red paint splattered on the rubber tips. "Hold these." He tossed the bag into Dom's arms and waved at him to get up on the rock with him and the twins. "You can be our page. Okay, everyone, get into position and remember – protect the castle at all costs!"

The look on Dom's face... well, I damn near wet my pants seeing his jaw drop as fast – and hard – as it did.

"**THE FUCK!?** A _page!?_"

I had to stop laughing, though, in order to get myself together, because the next thing I knew, Simon's hand was right in front of my face, offering me a lift up onto the rock. I knew I was leaving my poor friend devastated and furious to find his own way up, as the rest of the group were scattering and crawling up the rocks to get to the ledge overlooking the other side of the structure – but in a way, I was a bit relieved. I didn't want to have to explain to him why I'd been laughing so hard...

And my laughter stopped abruptly as soon as I took Simon's hand: the bastard gripped my fingers so tight, I thought he'd break them; even better, it hardly seemed like anything for him to yank me all the way up with one arm, setting me on my knees before I had time to react. Suddenly, I knew why Chris still hurt from the week before.

Clearing my throat, I followed Simon to the ledge and ducked down behind another rock with him. "So, um, what do you do, then? Just run around all willy-nilly, hacking at each other with fake swords?" I asked, glancing nervously towards the battlefield beyond the rock structure.

And somewhere behind us, Dom's voice screeched angrily, "A fucking _page!?_"

Simon didn't seem to hear him at all. His attention was completely focused on me as he explained, "Oh no, no, see, it's all planned very meticulously. As you can see, we have a castle to protect an' everythin'. We've got boundaries and borders. We were even thinkin' a' drawin' up a treaty at one point – but then the other team backed out at the last minute, which is why the battles still carry on to this day..."

I glared at him the more he spoke, feeling stupid for having taken his words seriously at all. "You're takin' the piss, aren't ya?"

He was the epitome of sincerity as he lied through his teeth: "There's nothing random or chaotic about any of this."

"A fucking _page!?_"

"It's all about strategy, game plans, gaining strength and knowledge--"

"A _**PAGE!!**_"

Dom's wail was suddenly interrupted by a spine-tingling roar from the other side of the ledge. My eyes growing wide, I gulped and asked shakily, "What was that?"

Simon was already moving into battle-stance. "Uh-oh. Looks like the enemy's about to attack." He snapped his head to the side and hissed behind himself, "Ninja fighters ready?"

And all tension and fear once again slipped, slid and downright toppled right out of me as I stared at him with exasperation clearly evident in every muscle of my face.

"_Ninjas!?_"

On-cue, two black-clad figures – I couldn't even make out their faces, but I knew they were Jun and Takeshi, only because of their eyes (they were both in the same class as Dom, Simon and myself) – sprung up from what seemed like nowhere, landing perfectly poised and ready in front of us.

Simon nodded at them once, and the two were off like dark lightning bolts headed straight... for disaster... or something.

I watched them zip off down the side of the ledge, disappearing into the trees at one side of the "castle" as if they'd never been there in the first place. Then I whirled back to Simon, gawking.

"What the fu--"

Simon shrugged nonchalantly. "The exchange students wanted to play, too."

"Oi!" Dom had finally made his way up to the top of the rocks with us and was looming over us, hands on his hips and a snarl on his face. "Why do they get to be ninjas!?"

This was hardly what was bothering _me_. Ignoring Dom's haughty stance (and indignant shouting), I snapped at Simon, "Why are there ninjas in medieval England!?"

Simon held up his hands helplessly. "It's not _so_ preposterous – they've had ninja and the like in Asia for centuries--"

"Yes – in _Asia!_ Do you even _know_ where you are right now?"

He smiled dreamily and stared into space, his eyes doing that annoying sparkly thing again that seemed to impress everyone else. "Of course: somewhere on the fringe of my own imagination..."

"More like your own bloody planet," I muttered, shaking my head with obvious disapproval, "with its own bloody history."

Simon made a sound of irritation, then spoke in a surprisingly rational voice: "Look, you never know, maybe they were loaned out by the dynasties, y'ken? Maybe some were, like, mercenaries or somethin'--"

"I don't think so!"

"Why not?"

"What history books've you been smoking!? There were no bloody ninjas in bloody medieval Europe!"

Simon held up a finger to my face, pointing out logically, "Ninja relied on stealth, right? Secrecy, stayin' hidden – of _course_ if they'd been here they wouldn't _mention_ it..."

"It's ridiculous!" I shrieked, having enough of his idiocy.

But apparently, he caught onto my impatience pretty quickly and decided to take the offensive instead: "Oi! Were you even there? Eh? Were you there beside Robin Hood and King Arthur and--"

"Those are _myths_, you imbecile! They didn't actually _happen!_"

"_Were_ you?"

Sighing, realising with dread that I wasn't going to win this, I slumped my shoulders and admitted heavily, "Well... _no_..."

"Then you don't know, do you?"

"...Well..."

"Have a little imagination, Bells, c'mon."

At the strange new nickname, I furrowed my brow, staring at him oddly. Simon, however, didn't seem to take notice of my surprise and swatted at my shoulder.

"You gotta loosen up, mate – have a bit a' fun now 'n then, eh? You'll go mental if you stay inside that textbook all yer bleedin' life..." He shrugged again, giving me – what I _thought_, and to this day still _think_ was – an honest smile. "I know there's a cool bloke in that paranoid little head a' yours somewhere, eh?"

I leant against the rock beside us, hit quite hard by his words; certainly harder than he meant them, I'm sure.

And then he was smirking at me. "Besides – Jun and Takeshi were really into it. What'd you expect me to do? Make 'em `the cooks'?"

I sighed again, scratching at my head. "Well... no... that wouldn't be fair--"

"_**PAGE!!"**_

"See, now you're thinkin' clearer." Simon gestured to the battlefield with his bow and nudged my arm. "Now go on, get out there 'n fight!"

I returned to my former position of gaping at him. "_Fight?_"

He blinked at me, as if I were deaf, dumb _and_ blind. "Uh, _yeah_. Y'know..." He gestured to the faux switchblade still in my hand. "Wave your little knife around 'n try to look menacing or something. Got it?" He jerked into a crouching position, snatched a few arrows from Dom's satchel, then lifted a hand high into the air as he jumped onto the rock beside us. "Now – **CHAAAAAARGE!!**"

And with that, he and the rest of Robin Hood's men bolted out onto the battlefield.

And as I watched, I surmised that my previous image had been the grim truth: this was absolute, utter chaos and carnage. Strategy, my virgin arse...

"Oh, completely premeditated, eh?" I mumbled to myself as I peered over the rock at the mess several yards away from the "castle." "Look, someone's got a black eye already..."

"He made me his fucking _page!_"

I'd nearly forgotten Dom was standing right there and lurched round to him at the sound of his wail. He truly looked like he was about to burst a vein in his head.

"I wanna be a bloody ninja, damnit!"

"Can't," came another voice, and we lifted our heads to find our lovely violent dumb giant standing in waiting on the other side of the rock. "You're not Asian."

Dom scoffed furiously and hurled the satchel of arrows at the ground. "Bollocks to all this!" And he stormed off in the opposite direction – but not too far, before he turned back... to join Friar Upchuck under the rocks.

I glanced up at Chris, raising my eyebrows. "You gonna squash me?"

He smirked and patted my head. "Not just yet. It's your first time – I'll be gentle."

"Oh, gee... thanks."

He shrugged at me, waving at the rocks below us. "The alternative is wiping up Friar Upchuck's drool – and probably Dom's vomit as well."

I paused to consider – but it didn't take me long to make up my mind.

Granted, I couldn't make the dashing exit "Simon Hood" had, actually needing to request assistance from my "enemy" to get over the rock... but in the end, I finished the battle _on_ the battlefield.

After all that hard work the previous year, it was my first moment of real pride at that school.

(And Simon was kind enough to loan me his cane for the rest of the week.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Lesson 3: How To Care For The Ill**

Rating/Warnings: PG/PG-13 for language.

Feedback: is most welcome.

Disclaimer: Not true. I own no one and nothing. Not even the cookie I just scarfed. (But I'll bet anything no one else wants to claim ownership of its eventual remains. Ew, I think I just grossed myself out....)

Dr. House:

It was official. The gods had it in for me.

Over an hour arguing with the dean, with his little ass-clingers and yes-men hanging around his office while I pled my case, and not a damn thing had come of it. I was still sentenced to my doom, still stuck in the throes of misery when I discovered that my precious extra free time to myself, which I had been reveling in (due to yet another slight "glitch," this time in the scheduling department) for nearly a full week, was now going to be put to what the dean calls "good use."

Bloody tyrannical bastard. Thinks he can tell me what to do, just because he signs my checks... and, well, _is_ officially my technical _boss_...

It didn't help matters much either that one of those aforementioned ass-clingers – who, actually, should have been getting his own ass kissed by the dean, considering he was also one of the school's most charitable benefactors – was one of the dean's oldest personal friends. His presence during our "chat" had not been welcome on my end, and certainly his encouragement to get me "closer to the student population, instead of holed up in his lab doing God-knows-what, probably trying to figure a way to wipe out the population of anyone under the age of twenty-five" - well, that was hardly welcome either. Putting it lightly.

It's not that I truly detested these people in reality; but when they gang up on you, suddenly friends become foes and alliances become illusions. Even James, one of _my_ oldest friends – not to mention the man I live with, a colleague, and surrogate mother hen to my still present inner child with a chip on his shoulder and a bad attitude – was riding my ass about it, insisting that I couldn't have had _another_ free period to slack off; he'd kept nagging me to go to the dean about it, to have it looked into.

Of course I ignored the git, as usual. So of course he had to go behind my back and do it himself. What a great friend.

So that was why, when I should have been dozing off at my desk while flipping through another handmade, xeroxed copy of a _very_ low-budget comic book made by some of the more creative (and, I dare say, _talented_) students who have more free time than necessary on _their_ hands, I was instead trudging up the small hill of grass which led to the school's soccer field – football, whatever. I'd been in the States for so long by then, I'd stopped thinking in British terms, even by my fourth year back in my mother country.

Trudging more than the average middle-aged slouch, too, might I add. And not just because of my sour, putrid mood. I'd had an actual physical handicap for almost ten years by then, so there were more reasons than just my lost period of glorious laziness that had fueled my argument with the dean. It was an actual physical _reason_ to keep me from carrying out his very clear and direct orders; but the man was impossible, had always kept his tunnel vision whenever he'd decided on something being a "brilliant plan."

And that egghead with the drop-dead gorgeous wife, probably unearned millions in his back pocket to throw around, and an annoying midwestern American accent – he'd just encouraged the bastard to go along with the absurdity.

So that's why I dragged my already bad leg to the place I was supposed to report to that afternoon. I'd tried to get away with just not attending – but then Mother Hen showed up at my door and asked why I was reading material we usually punish the boys for (the comic really was excellent; a blatant mockery of the entire school, with characters based on people I could name by their irritating personality quirks). So I had no choice.

As I approached the field, I dreaded having to have the upcoming conversation with the athletics coach. Not only was the bastard a former military man, but he still thought he was in the army – and the boys were his troops. I almost didn't blame many of them for faking ill when phys ed period came, but then, I'd remind myself that I hated them all anyway, so what did I care how they suffered?

Still, having to communicate with the overgrown shaved ape was not something high on my list of things I wanted to achieve in my life. But I guessed there was no point avoiding the issue. I saw him standing in a corner of the field, yelling loudly at some of the boys to pick up the pace – and three very confused looking souls ran around randomly until the yelling stopped. If I'd had the energy – or the breath – I would've laughed out loud at those sorry faces.

The coach finally took notice of my wobbling form coming towards him and narrowed his beady eyes even more. His kind nature shown like a beacon of light as he stayed right where he was and let me struggle to reach him. He directed his attention onto the field again until I was right beside him, then, without a glance towards me, uttered out of the corner of his mouth, "What're you doin' out here, doc? Thought you hated fresh air."

I leaned as much weight as I could on my cane, praying the thing didn't crack under the extra pressure, and attempted to sound as careless as usual. "His Majesty noticed I have more than two minutes to spare, and he claims you're down an instructor."

"Yeah," the oaf confirmed in his comically deep voice. "My assistant bailed on me the first day."

"What happened to that really hot chick who used to run five miles every morning before classes started? Did the boys eat her? Or did you?"

Without flickering his eyelids a millimeter, he dismissed my crass nature and answered plainly, "Got married. Had a baby. Won't be back 'till next term."

I groaned; more jocks reproducing – just what this world needs.

"So I'm gonna ask you again, doc: what're you doin' out here?"

I shrugged; wasn't my choice, right? "Dean's conveniently decided to pluck _me_ from the throngs of teeming masses of potential fill-ins to take the empty spot until he can get a new one."

There was a long silence – a _very_ long silence – between us. And then he turned his head to me – and down, down, _allllll_ the way down to stare at me. Unbelieving. "You?"

I shrugged again. "Yup."

His eyes dragged up and down as he gave me a once-over. "A phys ed instructor?"

"Mm-hm."

He hesitated, his attention apparently captivated by the very obvious cane keeping me upright.

"You see why I'm a bit puzzled, right?"

I returned his stare and pulled the most clueless, shit-eating grin I could muster. "I can't begin to imagine, sir."

He sighed, looking back to the field again, and mumbled, "Okay, then – take a few laps with the boys who couldn't be bothered to listen when I told 'em to get in line."

I glanced over to see two haggard-looking mutts wearily stumbling along the track around the field; though they were on the other side, I could swear I heard their pants.

I turned back to him and smiled again. "I respectfully decline."

He gave a grunt of disapproval, but then just waved a hand toward the small set of metal bleachers set up several yards away from where we stood, which was holding the few students who were unable to participate in class for legitimate reasons.

"Then go sit over there," he ordered, "and instruct the rejects on how to keep from getting rushed to the hospital every two weeks."

I happily – and that's a stretch for me – took up his offer and started limping over, adding over my shoulder, "Maybe I'll do you one better and actually take up the _education_ part of phys ed."

At that slight, he whirled on me, and the heat of his glare made me freeze in place for a moment.

"You tryin' to say somethin', Doc?" he asked my back. "Because I'm all ears if you've got a smartass remark about my intellect."

I paused in my trek to assure him, "Not only is it anatomically impossible – not to mention disgusting – to be all ears, but you seem to have grown a malformed chip on your shoulder over the summer holidays, Mr. Samson. You're not sore that the dean thinks you can't handle these boys on your own, are you?"

That did it: the eyes went wide and bulging, the face went from peach to red to purple, and a vein began throbbing in his forehead. Luckily, I not only had the strength of the handicapped on my side, but we were on school property – in front of an entire class of teenage boys, whom we were supposed to be setting an example for.

He drew in a deep breath through his bulbous nose, let it out like a steam engine, then barked as he turned away from me, "Go be useful or something, will ya? I've got a class to run."

The rest of his words were obscured by his own unintentional chewing of his tongue, but I thought it was fair to guess they were words best kept in that foul mouth.

I sighed, almost cheerful now that I'd managed to piss someone off that day, and continued on toward the bleachers. Once reaching them, I eyed up the situation and counted heads, barely taking in the faces _on_ those heads.

"Okay, then," I said aloud. "Five lonely souls, huh? Think I can manage that..."

And then, it hit me: that voice, that familiar, hair-standing-on-end, nerve-grating voice with the accent made up of almost entirely consonants – it reached my ears, and I realized with dread that I should have been paying a little closer attention to the faces I counted.

"Oi, Doc, what you up to? Thought you'd melt if you were touched by sunlight."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, squinting through the oncoming migraine.

Not that he often gave me headaches – in retrospect, he'd always been one of the brighter, more promising students I'd had the misfortune of teaching.

But the questions... The never-ending questions, and expectations of answers... The curiosity which most teachers beg for from students, it _wore_ on me... so _easily_ with him...

I opened my eyes again, and there he sat, on the very first bleacher, face already stubbly after only a few hours of being untouched by a razor – leaning his head lazily on a cane which looked eerily similar to my own, peering up at me with interest.

I sighed and decided that there was no way to avoid him either. "Contrary to popular belief, you twit, I only feed on human blood when said human annoys me." I slid onto the bench beside him. "What're you doing stuck on the sidelines? I figured you'd be out there with the other drones trying to sustain a head injury to get out of any actual mental labor."

"Course not, sir," he replied in a chipper tone. "I've got you on my schedule after this class every Tuesday and Thursday this term. Can't go knockin' me brain around before bein' herded into the wondrous realm of science, now, can I?"

Good God, why hast thou forsaken me? Two periods in a _row?_

I groaned inwardly – and outwardly as well. The twit just chuckled at my pain and rested his chin on the cane, looking out at the active boys and going into a blank stare.

Finally, I cracked – I couldn't take the pathetic look on the goon's face, obviously wishing he could join in the fun on the field (though how anyone could call a game led by Commander Samson "fun" was beyond me...).

I gestured to his cane and gave him a wry expression. "What's with that?"

Simon blinked, as if coming back to himself after a very long mental holiday, then beamed at me proudly. "Like it? Eh, look – we could be twins!"

I shuddered involuntarily at the mere suggestion, then went on in a surly tone, "I almost hate to guess, but I'll give a shot. You, in your immeasurable wisdom and _obviously_ precise nature, took a nasty spill from your motorbike over the summer and had to spend your nights laid up in bed alone instead of going out to terrorize the younger children in your neighborhood. Right? Am I close?"

He gave a helpless shrug. "That's what I've led everyone else to believe, but since I like biology, I'll let you in on a little secret."

"What's that?"

He leaned in toward me and confided, "A bar of soap... between a shaky foot and a porcelain tub... doesn't stay put very well."

I stared at him dully. "You... broke your foot..."

"In the shower," he nodded, feigning regret, but I detected a hint of misplaced pride as well.

"By slipping on a bar of soap."

He smirked at me, at my rather droll expression and flat tone. "Aye. It's healing fine, but then I made it worse by playin' battle games the other day after classes... But as for when I first broke it – well, as I'm sure you've already guessed, I was in one of those awkward places at the time where they say it's dangerous to pick up the soap if you drop it, so..."

As he trailed off, I actually found myself gawking at the boy. "You were... in a boys' home, then? A detention center? What'd you do _now?_"

He snickered at that slightly – and then burst out laughing, giving me a ridiculous look. "No! I was at home! God, what do you think a' me, anyway? You honestly think I'd end up in jail?"

I rolled my eyes when I realized he'd been pulling my leg – probably my damaged one, too, if I knew him well enough...

"Well," I admitted honestly with a shake of my head, "one can never tell... You brats've surprised me before with the extent of your potential stupidity--"

"Yeah," he agreed immediately, "but I'd never be stupid enough to get _caught_."

I considered this, nodding my own approval at this point of view. "Ah. I see. Forgive my very much intended insult to your intelligence."

"Awright, if you say so. Hate to disobey an authority figure so early in the year."

"I'll bet. Need to start saving up for those Saturday detentions from the beginning."

"Y'know, it can get a bit boring on weekends. Want to make sure the option's there for a bit of disciplinary action."

"That's very responsible of you." I finally dragged my attention away from the miscreant to take in the rest of the outcast students, glad to come to the conclusion that I barely recognized any of them, besides Dom, whom I knew only because he fussed so much that his lab partner was driving him crazy by babbling on about every other subject under the sky when they were supposed to be concentrating on their assignments (Matthew, of course). "So what're these others out for? Too much hard partying over the holidays, warranting rest and relaxation to cure the queasies?"

Simon imitated my previous move and glanced over his shoulder to see who else was behind him, pointing to each in turn as he explained. "Well, I think `perpetual hangover' is actually written in Liam's personal file. Either that or `can't be bothered to do more than sway in place.' Ed's got a sprained ankle from getting whacked with the ball the wrong way last class. Tom's got the asthma problem. And Dom is just sitting this one out 'cause he forgot his sneakers. Mind you, I think he's done it on purpose..."

I quirked an eyebrow at this comment. "Well, you know, sharp dressers can't be bothered to remember sensible shoes. And then there's you."

Simon gave me a threatening glare. "Is that a slight to my wardrobe?" he hissed.

I rolled my eyes as he actually leaned his head down to smell his armpits. "I meant your injury."

He sat up straighter and nodded. "Oh. Yup, then there's me. And my temporarily gimp foot," he added scathingly as he stared down at the disappointment, positively _moping_ that he couldn't play.

I scratched at my own stubble, secretly envying him for the lack of gray I regularly sported. "Fan-bloody-tastic," I muttered, now starting to grow bored as he quietly moped to himself. I gave another heavy sigh to indicate my own unhappiness and griped, "So then, what'm I supposed to do? Just sit here and make sure none of you fall over or something? I mean, what is it you do when unable to participate?"

The dope was no help at all: he just shrugged again, looking forlorn as he stared into space. "Dunno. Sit here, I guess. Try our hands at being skirtless cheerleaders for those on the field."

I glanced over at the sound of a blocked nasal passage and cringed. "Liam seems to be napping..."

"There's always that option as well. But then, he's never been one for rallying the troops, if you haven't noticed."

The distinct sound and nature of the snore was so familiar, then, that I finally was able to place the boy's sleeping face in my memory. "Ah yes, okay – I've seen the puddle he can make from that mouth firsthand." I looked back to Simon and nudged his shoulder. "And you? Think you can stand to be immobile for an entire class period?"

The kid slumped forward again, leaning on his cane like a crooked old man. "I dunno. Guess I'll just watch 'n be jealous of functional bipedal life forms, I guess..." He trailed off again, his eyes wandering around aimlessly until they came to rest on my own leg. "So what's gimped you out, then?"

I stared back blankly; never understand these kids when they talk anymore... "What?"

"You." He waved at my leg, gestured to my cane. "That. What's it for?"

I clutched the solid, heavy wood in my hand and reminded him flatly, "To help me walk."

He gasped, slapping his knee. "Oh, is _thaaaat_ its function? Okay, okay... I was having misguided notions of using it as a pleasure device... Or, you know, pain..."

I grinned evilly and assured him, "Those are side bonuses, yes, but its original intent is to help one who has trouble walking to stay upright."

"I see. And you do?"

Finally giving up on the stupid banter, I decided to be straight: "Dead muscle after an infarction. Bloody thing just won't work for me anymore. Hurts like a bugger, too."

"Ah. Always wondered, never thought to ask. So, no bar of soap tripped you up?"

"No – little shit always tries, but I catch it every time."

He _tsk_ed and shook his head in a perfect impersonation of melodrama. "You're a mightier man than I, then, sir."

I glared hard at him, giving him my most severe _You asinine bastard_ face. "Of course I am, twit. Of course I am."

* * *

The room was dark and quiet. Peaceful. All elements conducive to a restful night's sleep.

And then the silence was broken.

"Sibod?"

"..."

Rustle. "Oi...." Cough. "Hey, Sibod?"

An indistinguishable grumble from under a warm duvet.

"Oi... You god adybore tissues? I'b all out."

Soft shuffling. A gentle thud of a box bouncing off an outstretched arm.

"Er, thangs, bate."

Silence.

Broken once more by a loud honk.

And then peace.

Until...

"Si?"

"Mmmm..."

"You... You god ady, like, cough syrup or subthint?"

Sigh. Rustling, then a distinct crack of a plastic bottle bounching off the opposite wall.

"Cheers, bate..." Gulp, gulp, gulp. "Aaaah..."

Yes, aaaaah indeed – finally, some rest.

"Si?"

"_What?"_

"..."

"What is it, Matt?"

"Ub... God ady, ub, extra covers?"

Deep breath and small growl. Heavy shifting, and the warm duvet was tossed across the open space between the two beds.

"Thangs a lot, bate."

"Nnnngh..." Thud, and a mattress' coils squeal irritably as one attempts to find one's previous comfortable mental and physical state.

A long, pregnant pause. Just waiting for it – it's going to come...

"Sibod?"

A long indrawn breath – just wait for it...

"God ady lozenges?"

An abrupt weight shifted off the mattress, and bare feet padded noisily to the door.

"Si?"

A door opened, then closed.

Once again, silence.

"..."

Absolutely nothing.

"...Si?"

Dom:

The pounding at the door was loud enough not only to jerk Chris and myself from our lazy dozing, but probably the entire floor as well. Chris automatically blurted out something about man-eating elks surrounding him, and I, having come back to reality far quicker than he, stumbled out of my bed and shuffled to the door as another round of obnoxious knocks began.

I opened up, squinting at the dim hall lights which were still too bright for my bleary eyes, and barely made out Simon's exasperated, stubbly face.

"Got any lozenges?"

I blinked a few times, trying to work out his words, then numbly nodded and turned back to fetch the requested item from my dresser in the dark.

But when I returned to the doorway, I was startled to find it empty. I peeked out into the hall, but there was no sign of the apparent figment of my imagination.

I shrugged it off and closed the door, tip-toed back to my bed quietly...

...only to leap from the covers as soon as I tried to crawl back under when I found another body already occupying the space intended for _my_ tired arse.

"What the fu--"

"You go back 'n keep 'im comp'ny," the bloked slurred, already half asleep again. "'E likes you better 'nyway..."

"Simon! Get out of my b--"

"Look," he said, suddenly sitting bolt upright and speaking sternly and clearly, "I'm a very patient man – I'm not prone to violence. But if I go back in that room, I promise you, you won't _have_ a best mate to order you around anymore. Maybe you'd prefer that, but if the vibes I get from the two of you arseholes-in-denial are anything to go by, I think you'd feel quite put out. So why don't you go console your sick little diva and let me get my sleep, ken?" And he stuffed his head under the pillow to block out my protests.

I scoffed, too baffled by the very blatant – and numerous – accusations to think of anything to say to that...

So I simply threw my bare arms in the air furiously and demanded, "Where'm _I_ s'posed to sleep then!?"

"Dunno," came the muffled voice from under _my_ pillow. "Sleep in my bed. Sleep in his and get all sick and gross like him – I don't really give a shit, personally. But I ain't movin'."

I sighed in defeat. No point in arguing. I'd barely had the time to think up a smart remark before I heard a soft snore from under the pillow.

So I yanked a loose blanket from under his legs and, dejected, refused from my own bed, I shuffled wearily out of the room and headed for the sick bastard's room instead.

The things I do for him...


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Lesson Four: How To Just Say No

Rating/Warnings: language, slashy-esque hints (nothing graphic), mild drug use. Pre-revision

Feedback: is very welcome, thank ya.

Disclaimer: Despite what the Simon in this story would have you believe, this is not true. I don't know any of these people. In fact, I'm not even sure if any of them actually do exist

"Okay, so, like, there're three dimensions that are tangible in our reality, right? Height, width, depth. And then there's the fourth: time, which we only have a slight grasp on the concept, don't we? We can't, like, change or shift it according to our own will. And we could debate for hours – _days_, even – over all the controversy and possibilities of those four dimensions, the last one being the most _in_tangible and possible to play with.

"But, like, if you go beyond what physical senses tell us, if you use your imagination, maybe tap into an area of the brain we aren't scientifically very aware of, there's a _huge_ void there, an enormous chance for, like, more dimensions existing besides what we're able to comprehend with our physical human senses. If you believe the fact that our awareness of self and sentience is a given, and our access to tools and manipulation, thought and strategy, all go past just the primal instinct to kill or nourish ourselves to survive, then that belief dictates that humans are the highest on the food chain, so to speak.

"But what if we're not? I mean, take away tools such as weapons, you put a naked bloke in the middle of a rain forest, he'll be lucky to make it out with his balls intact, assuming he'll make it out alive at _all_, yeah? But it's because of these other things which can either be put into words or demonstrated physically in an extreme situation such as that, that makes us all think we're higher up than, say, other mammals. Our brains, supposedly so advanced, can figure out multiple ways to go about doing things – including philosophical reasoning, which I dare you to get a bear to do!

"But, what about the things we cannot see, or sense in any other way that communicates to our brains that they exist? What if these things – spirits, ghosts, poltergeists, whatever – what if they _are_ around? Does it not make anyone else uncomfortable to think that there are other forces, other beings, if you will, that are alive right now in our reality? And what if those things are able to manipulate _us_ beyond our own control or comprehension?

"We could be going along, doing our usual routine, maybe taking a bit of a stroll down the woods – and then someone gets an unusual urge to, say, jump off a bridge. What if that person either has a link to those other beings and is just acting like a conduit, or, like, catching a whiff of that being's desire to _not_ exist anymore, or, or, like, he's being manipulated, right, by this other force? That other force, right, for some reason wants this particular bloke outta the way and wants to make him kill himself, so it somehow tricks his mind into thinking he wants to do himself in – and makes him think _he_ thought of it himself!"

The dim, smoke-filled room, hazy despite an open window and a fresh breeze wafting in now and again, was quiet after the stuttering, syncopated rhythms of Matthew's long-winded speech. Five separate pairs of eyes all stared back at the small young man as he sat cross-legged on his bed, his own set of peepers wide with mild panic and an extra dose of paranoia. Despite the smoke.

It was so quiet, one would have leapt at the sound of a pin dropping.

And then a soft inhalation of one of the boys from the floor drifted through the room, gently cutting into the eerie silence.

Clearing his throat, Ben raised his eyebrows at Matt. "Okay. Which one of us do you hope jumps off that bridge, man?"

Matt blinked, eyes darting up to glare at the ceiling.

"Really, mate," Ben's twin put in from the other side of the communal ashtray, pushing his orange hair behind his ears. "It's almost too verbose an excuse to use to get out of Murder One..."

"No, really!" Matt whined at the mockery of his ideas. "Doesn't it freak you out a bit? The thought that maybe we're not quite as powerful and in-control as we delude ourselves to be? That makes my skin crawl..."

Chris, who had taken over Matt's desk chair (backwards, of course, so he could lean his full chin on the top of the frame – and accept the offered pipe when it was passed to him), added logically to his old friend, "That's the kind of person we in the _real_ world call a `nutter,' Matt."

As Matt wrinkled his nose and mimicked the giant boy's sentence in a high-pitched squeak (while the others all agreed with Sasquatch), Dom broke his somber silence from the small boy's opposite side to sit up, rubbing his eyes wearily, and ask, "What was the question again?"

Simon, lying sideways on his own cot (having proclaimed that "none shall pass" when the twins both begged to have a soft place to rest their bums – their punishment, he said, for _not_ calling him into their room earlier when Soundgarden's "Jesus Christ Pose" had been on the radio), reminded the gradually fading, sleepy blond, "`What keeps you up at night?'"

Dom blinked wearily, too ashamed to admit to the others that the smoke was starting to get to him – not the actual smoking itself, mind, but his eyes felt like two shriveling toads out of water...

"Right," he murmured, glancing at his long-time best mate – and then switching back to cast a heated glare at Simon. "And why did _someone_ ask him this, oh wise one?"

Simon held up a hand in defense, but instead of looking as flabbergasted as the rest of them at Matt's clearly unexpected babbling over one simple question, he merely gestured to the dark-haired boy across the room and pointed out, "Look at him, man! He's got eyebags the size of my balls--"

Dom cringed visibly. "I'll take your word for it--"

Ben whipped his head around to look up at Dom above him, assuring him, "That means Matt's been sleepin' like a baby, actually--"

He was cut off by a fiercely hurled pillow, pegging him directly in the face.

"You'd know the exact measurements, wouldn't you, ya cunt!?" the crude Scots boy snapped.

"Oh, please," Dom groaned, raking his hands through his hair in exasperation. "No more details on how Si makes Ben suck him off every night, _please_ – I'm a bit more concerned about my mate's sanity at the moment--"

"And that image isn't helping much," Chris added helpfully, still grimacing himself.

Matt, however, had long gotten over – or perhaps long gotten _used_ to – the perpetual suggestions of a questionable relationship between his roommate and the twins, so he was not nearly as disturbed as the others. Which was why he could easily turn to Dom, utterly baffled in his own right, and demand, "Why're _you_ so surprised about my mental anguish? I rant to you about this shit every _day!_"

Dom lowered his chin into an upturned palm and sulked, "Yeah... I just thought, you know... you'd just say `spiders' or something... Didn't know you'd get into all the metaphysical bollocks..."

To his horror, instead of brushing off Matt's "concerns" as Dom did, Simon took up the lead usually left to Matt's closest friend, pointing out in a flatly reasonable tone, "Trouble with your fear, Matt, is that it's not only one I can relate to, but to be blunt, it's one that _is_ scientifically plausible – in fact, it's _true_."

Dom's eyes like saucers, he glared at Simon, trying to mentally communicate to him the hissing threat of, _What the fuck d'you think you're doing!? You're gonna get him started all over again!_ Simon completely ignored the dirty look and held Matt's remarkably steady gaze with his own.

Chris, on the other hand, outright laughed, nearly choking on a drag of smoke. "What, evil ghosts and shit? You've _got_ to be kidding me..."

"Well," Simon went on – once again in that tone that was so matter-of-fact and confident that no one could think to argue with him, "not so intangible as ghosts and the like, but look at all these diseases we can't find a definitive cure for: cancer, AIDS, Hep C, Ebola – there are treatments, vaccines, sure, but nothing to absolutely eradicate it for sure from people who already have it. And these are teeny tiny organisms, viruses and such, that mess with our human systems and fuck up our lives in so many ways. And we can't see any of them with the naked eye, now, can we? So that counts for not being able to sense them with the basics we've got already. Even certain medical conditions and mental illnesses, to some degree – there's no certain way to _cure_ diabetes, or schizophrenia, or autism. Granted, many of those types of disorders are more chemical disruption or disturbance than an unseen entity sneaking in and wreaking havoc, but it's the same principle – we can't _see_ the chemicals or how they function, or malfunction. Not clearly, eh? There are treatments and the like, some people just make miraculous recoveries sometimes. But we have no universal eradicator of these disorders, y'know? So, in a way, these ghosts Matt talks about _do_ exist, even if it's not quite the same way as he put it. I mean, even just the common cold – it's not lethal to the average person, but it can fuck around in one's system, possibly leading to worse conditions. And all you can do is treat the symptoms until it goes away – and it never does really go away, does it? That's how you become immune to that particular strain, right? Your body adapts to it, basically. Which makes the human body a remarkable piece of work, but still, we obviously can't adapt to certain viruses, so that makes _them more_ powerful than us. We're not invincible. If nothing else does it, then, it's that wicked fourth dimension that eventually beats the shit out of us, wearing us out to be frail old people who break their hips with spills we take now as an every-day event, bein' careless teenagers an' all. If no horrific accident or other incident like encountering a homicidal madman does it, and you somehow manage to avoid getting terminally ill, all you need is time – and time's the biggest, baddest killer of 'em all. Time just fuckin' _kills_, mate."

Once again, the room was dropped into a long, seemingly endless period of utter silence – only this time, four pairs of narrowed eyes were focused on Simon, and a fifth darted around manically to take in the other four pairs' reactions to what he and Simon both seemed to have known for a while now.

The other four seemed to say accusingly, _Now you've done it, you wanker. He'll never shut up now_.

"Y'know," James put in, under his breath, "`baddest' isn't a word—"

But then Ben, being _Ben_, relaxed his facial muscles from glaring at his mate, and took the pipe Dom was offering him as he shook his head and chuckled. "Well, I dunno 'bout all that," he sputtered as he lit the pipe. "An' I know this ain't helpin' Matt's nerves for that chem exam tomorrow, which is why, I suspect, you're _really_ all talkin' death right now – but, fuckin' hell, man – this is some of the heaviest hardcore shit you grow, boys..."

Simon:

'Twas a lovely day at the institution we so casually call "school." The Sun, in all his vibrant and colourful glory, had decided to take us all by surprise and show up for a change, as his sister and lover the Moon had done the extremely enchanting night before, hypnotising many of us (stoned-bonkers idiots) by her wondrous beauty. The Air was sweet with lilacs and light in my hair as it seeped in coyly through half-open windows in the corridor while I made my way to a particular room. The hints and signs and whispers of a gorgeous day to be had were sneaking in all around me; it was enough to make a boy squirm for the outdoors.

Alas, I was sentenced by my own impatient nature to suffer indoors until the bleak clouds of assignments for the night were finished. Only then would I allow myself the freedom to taste the wind and bask in the brightness – it was branded into me since grammar school, to get everything necessary done before allowing my carefree spirit to take over. I guess some would say it was responsible, but it was merely an obsessive compulsive symptom I needed to adhere to in order to fully enjoy my time off. If I didn't do it, I'd just think about it and worry over it until it was done – so why bother putting it off?

Trouble was, with this dedication to hard work, I tended to take a soaring leap from the edge of a massively high cliff to compensate. Hence the mock ancient battles and a rather dodgy reputation for seeming like a careless brute sometimes. But if they bothered to try to talk to me, I always seemed to manage to sway people's imaginations over to the thought that, while I may have seemed aloof, I was really a pretty okay bloke.

I really never knew why people gravitated to me. I just always tried to live by the belief that doing what everyone else thought was "cool" was _boring_. (That was rule number one; number two was to live and let live; number three was "always make sure to have toilet paper at your disposal." Three essential tidbits of wisdom for the average person to abide by, I think.) I never felt an urge to become a very popular figure, but somehow, that way of thinking itself eventually paved the way to people liking me. I guess it's just that people appreciate not being lied to, and I'd never been a very good liar. I tended to bust myself up before I could even get the fully-formed fib out of my mouth.

That's not referring to the not-so-subtle exaggerations, mind, or anything that came about from me using my imagination too much. When you're makin' shit up for fun, it's not necessarily a lie – it's a story, a fiction, and who knows if, as you're making it up, it's not happening in another universe as you tell it? And I'd loved the most fantastical fiction since I was a wee boy being read to by my mother.

My mother... How I could go on about that beautiful, illustrious soul whom I'd had the terribly lucky fortune to raise me. She was the epitome of all that I'd ever considered good and safe in this world, the source of much of my inspiration and hunger for original, creative thought, the first catalyst for my forays into such realms as music, art, experimentalism... Curiosity to see how far I could go, how weird or absurd I could get. She was, in a sense, my muse for many creative endeavors I chose to take on.

But I won't rave about her just yet.

Instead, I'll relate a story – which was _not_ fantasy – of intrigue and mystery, concerning two people I found myself quite involved with that year.

Which duo, you may ask, did I have the uncanny opportunity to run into at a most inconvenient moment in their, shall we say, "relationship"? There were so many to choose from that year. Was it the oh-so-obviously repressed puppy-love teens whose weights combined probably matched that of their third wheel's shoe? Or – horror of all horrors – was it the fantasmical Ginger Twins havin' a sordid, forbidden go at each other behind my back – with_out_ me?

Oh, you dirty little wankers...

No, I'm sorry to say it was neither of these two very likely possibilities.

Okay, Ben and James would never have a go at each other without me – at least not in a sexual manner anyway. I doubt they'd ever try to tear each other's heads off either, whether I was there or not; the brothers have always been close, so the only infighting to be had there was all make-believe pro-wrestling in tighty whities and towels remade into capes.

And while it would've been a relief for _all_ of us to have Dom and Matt drop the shy pretenses and just _go_ for it, for fuck's sake already – that would've taken a bit more time to develop into something solid enough to actually hump to. And despite their endless bickering and shameless teasing, they never truly could've beaten on one another seriously. (We would've _all_ had a good hearty laugh at that scene, believe me.)

However, it was still not a totally lost cause – the "couple" I happened to walk in on, who were merely in the middle of an intimate and very telling (if one can hear, between the chewed-up insults and accusations that were thrown, the inaudible whispers which actually _do_ the _telling_) verbal pissing match, was made up of none other than two of my own teachers for that year.

Now, let me just pause for a moment in order to clear up the fact that, yes, I did indeed know both of these fine chaps before they ever found my name on their role lists. Years before any of us came to this school, one was, for a time, a family doctor in Glasgow – until the patients met him and found out what a crude, unlikable bastard he was; my own family was not so easily intimidated, however, and we stuck with him until the office closed... a year later. He eventually saw fit to take his ultra-dry wit and put it to good use in shaping the minds of future male doctors – or just random miscreant delinquents such as yours truly – at the boarding school.

The other, by coincidence, taught at the same school my mother had, so I'd heard James Wilson's name around my house for a few years before the duo hauled their asses into England to take up highly regarded positions in the school I eventually attended. Before they left, however – in fact, while Dr. House's practice was still in operation – Mr. Wilson had also taken a special interest in me specifically, constantly catching me between classes (my mother taught younger children, while Mr. Wilson was an authority on the pre-teen crowd, though I never ended up having him as a teacher until my later teen years) to check and see how I was, if anything was bothering me, or to ask why exactly I'd decided to add a lime green bowtie to my neck instead of the required uniform...

His interest in me was not in any way vile or questionable, mind, but just a kind, teacher-esque manner he seemed to exude even after school hours. (Of course, I came to know, as I grew older, that he was merely putting on a presentable air for his colleague's son, as well as a student, and he was just as twisted and disgusting as the rest of us underneath... Well, not _quite_ as disgusting, but who can stand to shower every day, I ask you?) His attention to me came about after we first learned of my mother's troubles through tests Dr. House had suggested; naturally, they both knew all about my family's inner struggles, then, via one route or another.

Until that year at the boarding school, however, I had never gotten _very_ close to these older gentlemen – I simply knew them, and they were as aware as the Ginger Twins that the stubble I had at thirteen years old had not been artificially implanted.

I exaggerate, of course.

I shaved more regularly back then.

But the seed of curiosity and imagination had been planted in my mind years prior to this particular incident, so coming upon the two in a heated row about whose undergarments smelt worse was, well, almost like visiting home, really. Still, it cast a bemused light of strong circumstantial evidence on the already sturdy idea in my head that had begun to sprout ages beforehand.

When I unwittingly traipsed into the student-devoid classroom that afternoon to hand in a paper early to my science instructor, neither he nor Mr. Wilson seemed to notice my presence – but then, with a light foot and sly stealth, one can enter and exist within a room unseen for quite a while, if one knows just how to become invisible...

(Especially if one is, perchance, _hoping_ to come across such juicy bits of insider's knowledge to the world of the faculty...)

"Well, I wouldn't have left them out if I'd known you'd get all Mother Hen skittish on me, Jim."

"It's common courtesy, Greg – you simply keep them in the bedroom, end of story. And I'd hardly call where I found them being `left out.'"

"Maybe they fell out of the basket on one of your millions of compulsive trips to the washer."

"Right into the refrigerator!? Right on top of my next day's lunch!?"

"They can grow legs, that underwear--"

"Especially when they've been filthy for weeks--"

"That wasn't _my_ doing, if you'll remember. I seem to recall a certain saucy English professor claiming to, and I quote, `need a quickie' right before his daily shower one particular morning--"

Guess that answered my shower question...

"Don't blame your stiff whites on me, House! They're _your_ briefs, for God's sake, _you_ should clean them!"

"I told you that morning I was gonna make _you_ do it for waking me up so goddamn early!"

A long pause, then a clearly unbelieving, "I didn't think you were serious."

"I most certainly was – only my ideal fantasy had been for you to lick them clean right after, but as usual, you put it off, and that shit dries hard, man--"

"God, you are disgusting!"

At this point, Dr. House dared to lean in over the desk, coming dangerously close to Mr. Wilson's dramatically less-lined American face.

"You knew that years ago, Jimmy. Why act so surprised now?"

I couldn't make out, from my position just behind a bookshelf by the doorway, what exactly happened in that brief pause when the two of them stood silent in front of each other, but I could just imagine the knowing smirk on the Literature professor's face right before, perhaps, an intimate brushing of lips...

And then a cold pair of eyes swept over Mr. Wilson's shoulder, suddenly freezing me to my place – they widened ever so slightly in shock when they took in another form in the room, realising that the company had become a crowd...

Acting as if I'd just come through the door, I coughed noisily and scratched at my head as I barreled fully into the room.

"Oi, Dr. House, I finished that paper--"

And, as I lifted my shaggy head to peer up at them both innocently, I couldn't help the vague surprise of my own when I saw that Mr. Wilson seemed to have beamed himself a few good feet away from the doctor, lounging casually on an edge of the large desk as if they hadn't been anywhere close to each other's person the entire time.

"Yes, Simon?" Dr. House urged when I trailed off stupidly.

I recovered myself quickly and approached the desk, trying desperately to keep the smug smirk off my too-telling face.

"Finished. Thought I'd get it in early."

The warning glare from those eyes spoke volumes, but all he said aloud was, "This won't earn you extra credit, you know."

"Oh, I know," I assured him – then added coyly as I backed away, "I'm pretty happy with my standing in your class as it is."

I didn't need to turn around to see it, but I knew he was throwing daggers at me with his mind as I left the two shaken teachers alone again to their own devices.

I only wondered if one of those devices happened to be a full tube of lube...

Naturally, I couldn't just let this incident go as it was. I'd always suspected in the back of my mind, but with that slight slip, I'd become absolutely sure of what I'd thought all along. And, me being me, I couldn't simply continue on a day-to-day basis without saying _something_ eventually. The next day's brief encounter with the doctor in the corridor consisted mostly of he and Ben exchanging pleasantries while I stuffed a fist in my mouth and avoided the penetrating gaze, then attempting to assure Ben moments later that I wasn't just being weird for the hell of it, but there was something substantial to make me burst out into a fit of giggles.

Literature class that day... oh, the agony... I could barely breathe the entire time, and I _so_ wanted to blurt something out to one of my friends – alas, I held it in, deciding to wait until the time was ripe with enough drama and production to break the news to them...

Unfortunately, I wasn't so strong that night, when I blurted the whole ordeal out to everyone in the room. Of course, the hash helped...

To my pleasant surprise, it turned out I wasn't the only one harboring these questionable secrets of the teachers' private lives. In fact, it turned out that the endless jokes about the two long-time "friends," well, were actually not jokes at all, even to the people _making_ them! Though a few (Chris) were mildly stunned and preferred not to think about it at all ("They're our _teachers_, guys! They don't _do_ that stuff!"), most of us confessed to having an inkling – an actual, serious, almost tangible vibe from them – that these two were not merely "cutting back on expenses" by rooming together.

And then... the next day – I suppose the thought of having _House_ for two entire periods (lab day), _besides_ having to put up with his presence during gym, was far too taxing on my mind. Something was bound to crawl out. Though I was determined at first to keep my mouth shut, to not draw attention, so to keep the man secure and confident in his private life _remaining_ private.

I could hardly let him get away with that...

As I settled into my usual space on the metal bleachers, propping my cane next to me as I lounged lazily back against the bench behind me, the doctor came limping up along the field – and a strange, wary expression overtook his features as he caught sight of his one charge for the day (Tom finally got a new inhaler; Dom finally remembered his sneakers; Ed's ankle was finally healed; and Liam... well, we believed he'd had a bit too much to drink the night before and simply skipped the entire day, as no one had seen him at all – or, more than likely, he hadn't had _enough_).

House shuffled over to me, eyes narrowed into slits as he took his usual place beside me on the bench. "You're looking unnaturally chipper today for a sportsman who can't play his favorite sport," he remarked.

I lifted my eyebrows and quipped, "Back for another round yourself, then, sir?"

He rolled his eyes, grumbling miserably, "Bloody dean is sure taking his time finding a new jock to fill this asinine position..."

I waved a hand casually. "Aw, but it's real hard work sitting here, init? Look, you don't even have to make sure Liam's naptime drool doesn't drown us all today."

"I could be grading exams right now. I could be having a wank in the loo right now. I could be doing _so_ many other useful things with this time..."

Previous words rang in my ears, and my eyes grew wide as I gaped at him. When he finally noticed, he did a double-take, furrowing his brow at me as if I had horns coming out of mine.

"...What exam?" I asked dumbly.

His head drooped to inch closer to me. "Pardon?"

"What exam?" I asked again, more clearly this time. "I was there the other day, wasn't I? Did I miss something? Are we having an exam today!?"

Again with the eyes pleading to heaven for some solace from my idiocy. "No, no – don't panic. It's the principle of the thing, Si, not the actual thing itself I'm talking about. If there _had been_ an exam, I _could be_ grading them right now."

A tidal wave of relief flushed out through my mouth and I relaxed. "Phew, oh good – thought I'd blacked out the last few minutes of class the other day..."

"You're fine," he assured me – then added under his breath, "For now, that is."

I smirked and nudged his arm with my elbow. "Felt like I nearly started out the term on the wrong foot."

He played along – exaggerating to make a fine point of how stupid he perceived me to be – and pointed at my leg. "That would be the broken one, yes? The one you have the cane for?" He grew serious – well, mildly – and uttered bitterly as he scanned the field of active teens, "I thought at first you were just taking the piss outta me when I saw you with it last week."

I cocked my head to the side and squinted at him. "You wank in the loo?"

"Of course not," came the flat reply, eyes still on the field. "Too many bloody errant children around to ruin the mood."

"Ah. I'd start questioning your position as an instructor if you did."

He paused, glanced back at me, smirked with a bemused glint in his eyes. "`Start'?"

"Well, it would certainly cast a shadow on my already shaky vision of you as an authority figure."

A sly, unspoken warning took shape in his stare. "Even authority figures possess libidos, twit."

I blinked in mock surprise, pretending to shudder. "Right. I'll take your word for it."

"You'd better."

"Right – otherwise the `gym teacher' title might start to suit you better."

He sighed heavily and gradually began to relax a bit more; pretty soon, he had become the exact copy of my lazy slouch, staring dully out at the running, shouting boys on the field with disdain – as I gazed out at them longingly...

Not like _that_, you nits. I wanted to _play_, not play with _them_...

"Want to throw stones at the goalies?"

"Nah," I grunted dispassionately. "They're too quick today." At his snort of disapproval, I felt the moment finally appropriate – or, perhaps, totally inappropriate, therefore giving me every reason to do it – to bring up a subject I'd been wondering about... "So, are you and Mr. Wilson, like, an item or what?"

A stunned silence. And then he turned his head to me, eyes huge and mouth nearly hanging open. And I continued to smile sweetly back at him.

"...Ex_cuse_ me!?"

I glossed easily over his balking and continued on airily, "You know. Jim. _Jimmy_. Your old friend and flatmate. D'you two have the same squabbles in bed that you do here just before a round of sweaty make-up sex or what? Or is he more into cuddling?"

For a moment – for just one teeny tiny moment – House's face grew red as an apple... and then became quite pale as he lowered his head, eyes glaring me down like a tiger sizing up its prey.

"I hardly think this an appropriate conversation to be carrying on with an instructor, _twit_."

I shrugged nonchalantly, staring up at the sky without a care in the world. "Eh, guess not. But c'mon, you've gotta be aware of the rumours by now, haven't you?"

If possible, he quailed even more, stammering, "R-Rumours? What rumours, exactly, are you referring to?"

"Just that. You 'n the Lit prof. Everyone knows you two live together and knew each other for years _before_ you came here. So obviously those of us with calculating minds begin to suspect..."

There was another long silence, and I actually began to feel a bit squeamish under the intensity of his stare; strangely, when I glanced briefly at him to indulge in another triumphant smile, _he_ was smiling too.

"Who exactly may have _started_ these rumours, pray tell, twit?" he asked, more than just a trace of oily nerve in his voice.

I sighed whimsically and waved a hand in the air. "Who knows how these things get started?"

Nothing. Silence. Dead stare.

I did a double-take on him, acting completely and utterly shocked. "Oh, what, you think it's _me!?_ Frankly, I'm shocked, Dr. House – shocked and appalled that you would even suspect _me_ – your student, your former patient, your friend, your protege – of being the source of such a menial, sordid scandal!"

"..."

"Well, it's an insult!" I wailed – so dramatically I nearly made _myself_ laugh out loud.

"Cut the shit, Simon, what've you been spreading?"

I bit my lip, dropping the obvious act and reverting to my real self – the sneaky, bastardised version my mother would roll her eyes at and mutter various prayers she didn't actually mean about. "You haven't answered me yet."

"What?"

"I asked you a question – you haven't answered."

"And I won't until you answer me!"

Oh, he was so having fun with this; as if a teacher ever had to actually answer a student! Whether he'd panicked at first or not, the truth was, he didn't _care_ who knew – as long as it didn't cost him his job. So his playing along with this game – he was just humouring me.

Yes, this was how bored we'd become.

"Okay," I finally blurted, the words tumbling out faster than Matt usually spoke, "I mentioned one night while we were all stoned that you and Mr. Wilson fight like an old married couple."

"..._And?_"

"_And_, then I intentionally put it into my friends' heads that a couple of unmarried gentlemen like yourselves who act like that _have_ to be shagging each other mental. Probably been goin' on for decades, I said. And that's _all_ I said, sir – can't help the disturbed minds of teenage boys from creating what they will..."

House chuckled morbidly and leaned his head back against the metal bench behind us, closing his eyes. "Simon, you're going to end up on the business end of a bamboo switch one day."

"Your turn."

Bleary eyes popped open to catch me in their sight, confounded by my lack of tact. "I beg your pardon?"

"I fessed up. Now it's your turn. Time to answer."

"Simon--"

"It's only fair, sir – you did say that you wouldn't answer until I did, and I have. So now _you_ must."

A smirk tugged at the side of his mouth, but all he did was close his eyes again, folding his arms over his chest. "I don't discuss my private life with my students--"

"You're shagging," I nodded with conviction. "I knew it. Score one for the gimp!" I started to raise my fist in the air in triumph – then paused to revise, "I mean me, though Mr. Wilson's quite a lovely man, so I suppose that means one for Gimpy You as well."

A low growl emitted from the exposed throat beside me. "_I'll _help the dean pick a new coach if he needs that extra push--"

"Aw, don't worry," I assured him through my giggles. "I won't go tellin'..."

"Thank you."

"..._many_ people..."

A heavy sigh escaped him, and he began to lecture toward the sky: "I'll have you know, _twit_--"

"Oh, okay, I'll keep mum about it... for a price..."

After another moment of my random chuckles and his stoic silence, he inquired lightly, "Speakin' of mum, how's yours?"

And the proverbial foot met my chest with a thump so hard, I nearly slid right out of my seat. Leaning forward sharply, I pressed my elbows into my thighs and glared hard at the grass below me. Chuckles all but lost from my lips.

There was a slight pause, then a movement beside me as he lifted himself from the bench behind us and settled upright. The faint sarcasm he'd had in his voice when asking the first question was noticeably absent when he continued, "Not doing well, is she?"

I inhaled deeply, shoulders hunching as I did so.

"Don't like to talk about it?" The sharp edge crept back into his voice: "Something a little too personal and close to home? A little too precious to mock?"

I bunched up some of the material of my loose trousers into fists and mumbled into my lap, "I said I wouldn't go blabbing. 'S not like I care, y'know. Can we change the subject, please?"

A beat later, I felt a slight weight on my shoulder, a pressure that was, somehow, vaguely comforting. "I'm sorry." Though his tone was as dull as ever, there was a hint of sincerity to it, which I did not fail to catch.

I glanced back briefly over my shoulder at him. "Me too. Just thought, y'know... an all-boys' school..." I forced something like a smile back onto my face, even if it didn't reach my eyes. At least he knew I was trying. "Kinda fitting to have gay instructors, y'know? Didn't think it was a big deal. Might be interestin' – but like I said, I don't _care_, like, _worry_, in a bad way..."

He just shrugged, like it didn't bother him either. "It isn't, really. It _shouldn't_ be anyway. And even if people – _boys_ - gossip and chatter amongst themselves... I'm the one in the classroom--"

"With the bamboo switch."

He nodded and patted my shoulder. "She'll pull through, Si. Just give it some time."

I stared out over the field again, wishing now more than ever that my foot was better. "Mmmm..."

"Now... go take a lap."

"Ha."

Dom:

I exhaled noisily as I flipped through yet another crap magazine whilst lounging languidly on Matt's cot. The poor boy was attempting to straighten up his side of the room (a feat never to be taken on sober) after puffing quite admirably on a certain missing roommate's full pipe...

Though I was always all for interesting, detailed discussions concerning areas and subjects that caught my attention, I was glad that night for the absence of others who would have encouraged Matt on this line of thinking. It's not that I disliked any of them – I simply didn't want the poor boy to have a nervous breakdown before the end of the first term. And the way he'd been smoking, rambling to new friends, and still continuing to cram his head full of every text we'd been given, reading passages ages before we even got to them in class, I was sure he was going to go into a tailspin soon.

So it was good to have a night off, so to speak. To not think very hard, to lounge around and be inactive in every sense of the word...

But Matt could just never sit still. I truly believed it to be some kind of nervous disorder – mental or physical, I wasn't sure, but there had to be something legitimately off in him. On a night when we had no extra assignments to work on, no one around to bother us, and free time to do whatever we chose, whether it was being lazy and serene like me or sneaking down to the woods to have a secret drum circle at "the castle" - Matt decided that he needed to clean his room.

Fidgety little weirdo.

Initially I whined that we weren't joining the others at the castle – it would've been excellent, I thought, perhaps a chance where I could finally shine in front of everyone. They all knew Matt could play the hell out of a piano and was getting better every week on guitar; many of them were talented on other instruments as well. But drums were _my_ thing. _My_ instrument. I could've taken them all by the necks and beaten them down with my... erm... beats...

But... Matt wanted to _clean_. He kept insisting I could go if I wanted, but he _needed_ to get this done tonight. I didn't say it, but I sort of hoped... he'd come to see me play. I was a bit disappointed. But of course, if I didn't tell him, he wouldn't have known that. Which is exactly why I didn't. You had to be explicitly clear with Matt like that sometimes – there were moments when he was so unaware of sarcasm that he thought I meant for him to actually go play in traffic...

I thought about being plainly blunt with him, telling him straight out that I wanted to go so I could show off a bit, and have him there to help me out, in a way. But on the other hand... the thought of getting to chill out and be alone – it was also quite inviting, seeing as we rarely got that anymore.

Besides, the autumn air was becoming a bit chilled at night, and I didn't feel like digging out my heavy coat to go traipsing around a bloody forest at ten o'clock at night.

So I kept my mouth shut and stayed in with him. Whilst he _cleaned_.

At my noisy sigh, he barely glanced up from the box of vinyls he was organising and asked, "Whossat y'got?"

"Nothin' much. Just another stupid music rag. Kim Deal's been arrested for drug possession – _again_. When will that girl ever learn?" I flipped the magazine shut and flopped onto my back, peering at him upside-down.

He tilted his head to the side, evidently caught by something on the cover of the magazine, and suddenly reached out, waving at me. "Oi, lemme see it."  
I shoved it toward him, warning, "There really isn't much going on in the music scene today I'm impressed with, really..."

He caught the thing between two skilled fingers and swept the entire book into his lap, scurrying to sit below me against the bed, carton of vinyls forgotten.

"Bollocks!" he exclaimed, sounding insulted by my easy dismissal as he paged through eagerly. "There's always good shit somewhere, Dom, just gotta know where to look."

I rolled onto my belly, raising my eyebrows at the top of his dark head as he studied the glossy pages intently. "You are truly ever-hopeful, aren't you?"

"Please," he scoffed. "If we don't find _something_ cool soon, Simon'll be forced to drag all of us on his quest to create what he calls `The Rebirth of Original Rock 'n Roll.' Complete with hair to our arses an' nothin' but black tees."

I couldn't help myself; I tried to suppress it, but the giggle found its way out before I had a chance to stifle it.

"What?" he asked, glancing up at me blankly.

"Nothing," I lied... and then couldn't hold back: "Just funny to hear you say `wock 'n woll.'"

He scoffed again, this time adding a scathing swipe with the magazine to nearly take off two inches of my hair. "Suck it, wanker!"

"I would, but you go stiff every time I try to kiss you – and not in the place I'd hope--"

"Oooh, Morello's back!"

What a fucking dork. Completely oblivious to anything except his first love.

That being music, mind – not just that particular musician.

"Excellent! Now there's a fit bloke for ya, mate..."

I sighed again, leaning over the edge of the bed to look over his shoulder. "Who, Tom Morello?"

He made a sound as if I'd just insulted the Pope – if he were Christian, that is. And devout. And actually believed in and followed institutionalised religions. And – well, you know. "Of course! Who else!? Only the best bloody guitarist to come around since... since... like, Hendrix!"

As his eyes darted back and forth over the tiny printed words, lapping up the article like such the fanboy he was, I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, okay, sorry for not keeping up..."

"He's brilliant, man, if I could rip on my ax like he does--"

"You'd be running to join Simon's imaginary band crusade?"

"Pfffft! Hardly! No, fuck that – I'd start me own band first – let him have his, I want me own..."

I flicked my fingers at his hair and cried petulantly, "Hang on, I thought we were gonna take over the world by way of scheming televangelists, like we planned!"

He paused, staring straight ahead for a second before tilting his head back to regard me thoughtfully. "It's pretty much the same thing, init?"

I returned his look, hesitating for a few moments to see if he truly wanted me to answer this. When he kept waiting for a response, I finally admitted dully, "Uh... _no_."

He shrugged, turning back to the magazine. "Okay, so it's not... Still, music can be like a religious experience for some people..."

I let out a huff of air as I pushed myself onto my back again, closing my eyes and enjoying the peace as he continued to immerse himself in the article.

Finally, though, I had to break the silence. I was smiling when I opened my eyes, attention drawn to the messy black hair beside my arm. "Would you do it for him?"

"Eh? Hm?" He was barley listening to me.

"Tom Morello."

"What about 'im?"

"Would you suck him off?"

Well, that did the trick. After a _perfectly_ timed comedic pause, Matt whirled around to face me, his already big eyes now bulging out of their sockets as he gawked. "_What!?"_

"Really, mate," I urged, my smile struggling not to grow too wide. "Seriously now. If you had to fuck around with another guy, would it be him?"

His head twitched a few times, like a chicken bucking back and forth. "What're you on about!?" he cried, putting a hand to his head. "I respect the man, I don't fucking _fancy_ him, Christ!"

"But if you _had_ to," I persisted, shoving him slightly by the shoulder. "Quit being so melodramatic. It's just a question."

Still taken aback, he blinked a few times, trying to steady himself. He cocked an eyebrow at me, his lips unsure whether they wanted to smirk or not. "...Y-You're serious?"

"Yeah. Would you?"

He drew in a deep breath, shaking his head like there was water in it and scratching at his hair. "Jesus... Um... I-I dunno..." His attention was like a drugged-up gnat – eyes and head twisting and darting here and there, unwilling to focus on anything specific, until finally they fell on me again, and there was a question in those stunning blue eyes...

"D'you mean, like, if I had to be sexual with Tom Morello, would I? Or d'you mean, like, if I had to be with _any_ guy, would it be him?"

I blinked briefly, doing my best to keep up with his motormouth – at the same time secretly cursing him for always doing this, constantly taking the simplest thing and creating bigger issues out of them because of tiny details he insisted had to be clearer in order to be comprehensible. "Um... the first one."

He looked at the floor in thought, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. After a long silence, in which he hummed and squirmed, he finally answered, "If he was gonna, like, beat me to death or else, I suppose I'd take it."

I gasped slightly, startling him even more (if that was possible). "You'd _take_ it? So you wouldn't mind being on the bottom?"

"_Mind?_ I think I might _mind_, sure, but if it's that or death, I'd rather have a chance of survival!"

"So you wouldn't go for bein' top?"

"God, what's with all this!?" he exclaimed, halfway between laughing and looking scared to death.

I shrugged it off casually. "Just curious..."

With a heavy sigh, leaning forward and obviously considering very thoughtfully, he admitted, "If it was him, I think I'd be more fit to be bottom, eh?"

I considered this as well, taking him in with my eyes. The small form, the skinny frame, the almost effeminate structure (minus tits, obviously)... I nodded, conceding, "Yeah – you're a bit smaller. Might hurt, though--"

"_Might!?_" he burst out, a bitter laugh in his tone. "You kidding me!?"

"I dunno," I reasoned. "It depends on how big he is, none of us know how bloody big he is, y'know--"

"Well, he's probably no bigger than the shit I took last night after eatin' all that pasta for lunch, but I wouldn't say that was a bloody joyride comin' out either!"

I stopped cold, face scrunching oddly in disgust as his half-formed smirk finally broke into a silly smile. Leave it to him to be openly crass in order to throw me off.

"Um – maybe we _should_ change the subject..."

"_You_ brought it up, man!" he reminded me, breaking up into giggles.

"Well, what about the other one?"

He grew serious in a millisecond, which was funny all in itself – one instant, a stone's throw away from seizures; the next, one step up from a coma.

"Eh?"

"The other way to ask it – if you had to be with another guy, would it be him?"

Once again, the question had to be rolled around in his mind as _he_ rolled around on the balls of his feet and knees, looking at the possibilities from every angle.

Why the fuck wasn't he a bloody Libra?

"Um... I dunno... D'you mean just the once, or for, like, a relationship?"

I groaned and flopped backwards again, covering my face with my hands. "Cor, bloody hell, Matt, why d'you always have to make things so complicated--"

"How can I answer a question like that before getting all the details first!?" he whined, slapping the mattress to make my head bounce a few times. "You should expect this from me by now!"

"It's not a bloody exam, for fuck's sake, it's just a random _question_--"

"Is it?" he asked, suddenly taking on a tone of high suspicion. I uncovered my face to see him watching me warily, that haunted look in his eyes again. "Hardly seems random to me--"

"Just answer!" I demanded fiercely. "Yes or no!"

Matt winced, as if it actually hurt to think about this for the amount of time he took. "Well... if it was for a long-term thing..."

"Christ on the tree..."

"...then no," he finally answered, rather smugly at that. "No, I wouldn't. With him, I mean."

I let out another sigh and gestured to him with my chin to go on.

"See," he continued, "for something long-term, like, I'd wanna be with someone I'm comfortable with, y'know?"

I stared silently at him, and he at me, for a long moment – and as I waited for him to finish, I realised he was still talking – sort of. His mouth was going, but no sound was coming out. I sat up straighter on the bed, peering closer at him.

"You okay, mate?"

He gaped back at me, a deer in headlights, as if struck by something completely and utterly staggering.

I gulped. "Matt?"

He shook himself sharply, averting his eyes, and suddenly got distracted by something by the foot of the bed. He slid the box of unopened snacks he'd raided from the cafeteria over to himself and started rummaging around in the noisy, squeaky foil.

"I mean, um – someone I care about, like, as a real person, y'know," he went on quickly, almost tripping over his words in his haste to spit them out. "Someone I'd spend most of my life with, y'know, most of my time, like you..." He stopped again for a second, flinching like he'd given himself a nasty papercut – then, without lifting his head, continued searching through the box.

I, on the other hand, was unable to tear my eyes from his bowed head, unsure of the words I was hearing from his mouth. "...Like me?" I asked, mostly just to confirm that he'd spoken those exact words.

He half-shrugged and tossed a few unopened bags to the floor. "Or, you know – _just_ you..." Said in a downright _mumble_, barely audible.

I smirked, feeling the urge to make the unease and discomfort I'd single-handedly brought upon him by grilling him like that go away. I felt so bad...

"Aw, Matt. I feel so loved--"

"Fuck off, wanker. Fuckin' hell, where the hell're my crisps? God, I'm starving – at this point, I'm about ready to eat me own words..."

"You're that hungry?"

"Yes! Well, that, and because, despite what I just said, I don't know how comfortable I really _am_ around you anymore, Howard..."

I kicked my leg out to shove him by the shoulder again, nearly knocking his head right off his neck. "Oh, fuck off, you've just been hitting the bowl a bit too much," I suggested, waving at Simon's pipe.

Matt finally lifted his head to catch my gaze again, though this time he was grinning with amusement. "Says the man who asks me if I'd take it up the arse from Tom fucking Morello!"

"And you said yes!"

"You gave me an ultimatum!"

I groped around on the floor until I found the magazine, then flipped to the guitarist's picture and held it up for Matt to see. "Well, look – he's not a _bad-_looking bloke, now, is he?"

Matt scrunched his nose, eying up the photo dubiously before confessing vaguely, "Well... Not really, I guess not..." Then he snapped back into the conversation, back into what he considered "sense," and fussed, "No – wait – I mean--" He grabbed the rag out of my hand and threw it across the room, hollering, "How the hell would I know!?"

I grinned wickedly at his profile as he dove back into searching for his snack. "But you think _I'm_ cute, don't you?"

He slammed the box against the floor once to demonstrate his frustration – but when he turned that stern, forboding expression on me, all he said was, "Fucking hell! I'm outta crisps! Goddamnit!"

Dr. House:

So James was pissed at me, yet again. How unusual. Maybe I left my shoes out for him to trip over in the morning. Maybe I ate the sandwich he'd left in the refrigerator for his lunch. Maybe I drank the wine he'd been saving for a special occasion (which apparently doesn't count when Greg needs to get buzzed).

Maybe I did all these things and more just to get him flustered, because after all those years, I still wasn't sure if he'd caught onto the fact that I liked him best that way. Made for better sex, to be honest, when he was acting and doing things out of spite, thinking it would upset me – when actually, I quite liked it. Not that I would ever outright say that.

But this time, I'd gone too far – it happened once in a while. And so he'd do something that even _I_ couldn't easily forgive him for.

This time... I couldn't believe it. He'd actually taken it to this level. It was one of the few "risky" tidbits about my life (besides the nasty attitude, the motorcycle, the alternative lifestyle while working in an all-boys' school, the tendency to piss others off just for shits and giggles, etc.), one which I actually went out of my way to keep from blatantly showing off.

He'd trashed my stash.

I was furious. Not just furious, but confounded. How had he known? How had he figured out where I kept it hidden? I'd even kept it hidden from _him_ that I still _had_ any...

But somehow, he knew. And when he'd had enough of my bullshit, he took action.

I was never an addict – at least, not to _that_. But once in a while, in a private moment, perhaps when he was away visiting family in the States, or staying late at work to help out with something involving the boys as a group, I would indulge in a little smoke just to stay loose and calm.

And the sneaky little bugger had tossed it. Flushed it. Whatever he'd done with it – hell, maybe _he_ smoked it, that would've been _great_ revenge against me – it was no longer where I kept it. It was _gone_. And asking him would have been admitting to it. Which, of course, I could never do.

I tried to call the person I usually bought it from, but they were away – until Christmas. Cursing up a storm, I almost became as frazzled as James would when I "went too far."

And so, the only explanation I have for my next course of action was... insanity.

I caught the little bugger (and I can legitimately call him that because back then he was plenty shorter than me) as he was making his way to the bleachers – agonizing once again over the fact that he couldn't participate. He was about to go to the coach to give him his own opinion about how the boys were doing, as Samson had asked him to keep an objective eye on the plays the last few classes so he could see where their strengths and weaknesses were. (In between the usual meaningless chatter with me, of course.)

But before he could make it there, I grabbed him by the arm and started forcing us both to hobble in the opposite direction. The boy was startled, of course, but I was determined – as I say, I wasn't an _addict_, but damnit, James had really ticked me off this time.

"Simon, may I have a word with you for a moment?" I asked, at the same time nearly plowing him into the bleachers with one hand.

He caught his balance remarkably well, then offered me that shit-eating grin of his. "Sure – but only one. Choose wisely."

I was in a rush to get through this; I didn't need his smartass remarks today. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in rare form....

"Look, enough with the banter right now, okay? This is... kind of a bit of an emergency. Of sorts," I mumbled in a clearly undignified rush.

"What sort is that?" He gave me a falsely worried expression. "Not the sordid sort, I surmise."

I narrowed my eyes at him, studying him closely – though his eyes weren't dilated to any abnormal degree, the happy grin sitting easily on his face always made me wonder...

"I'd ask what you're always on about – or what you're always _on_ – but I have a terrifying notion that I _do_ know, actually."

"Oh?"  
I purposefully widened my eyes and nodded. "Mmmm."

He gasped and nodded along with me, "Oh. _Ohhhh_..." He snickered and leaned closer to me, pointing back and forth between the two of us. "We not likey to speak so easy, though, do we? Encrypted code, we speaks. To communicate, is safest way, no? Talk in riddles, we charlatans do."

I stared at him. And stared some more. And when the stupid smile continued to exist, I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Yoda. Now, um..." I cleared my throat uncomfortably and leaned in closer, practically whispering into his ear by now. "I take it you aren't exactly the type of student who enjoys being the status quo, the `norm,' if you like. Is it safe for me to assume that?"

He raised his eyebrows in intrigue – but obviously wasn't catching on. "Hm? Assume what exactly? For all I know, you could be inquiring about my questionable state of hermaphroditism."

I cocked my head to the side. "Is that even a word?"

"It is now. I make up the language as I go along – called `Scottish,' you've heard of it?"

"Even when you rattle it off, just barely. But no, I mean that, despite your excellent marks, you tend to run with a crowd – strike that. You tend to _lead_ a crowd that is, shall we say, not your average, run-of-the-mill, top-of-the-class pristine type."

"Mmm. You would not be making an ass of you and me to assume. If what I believe your meaning to be truly is what I suspect it truly is, then yes, it is true. Truly."

"...What?"

"You're asking me if I'm clean-cut, yes?"

"Yes."

"No. As clean as my chin is hairless."

I furrowed my brow, my eyes drifting downward to catch the very faint hint of a shadow coming in on his face. "Um..."

He gasped, reaching up to stroke his chin. "Oh wait – I _did_ shave this morning, didn't I?" He laughed with a nonchalant shrug. "It's well past noon now though, there should be a whisker or two cropping up--"

"You're a born troublemaker, you twit, despite your politeness and generally kind external demeanor," I finally blurted, letting the words fall from my lips without thinking about them – otherwise we'd be there all day. "You're basically a piss-taker when you smile so sweetly for the clueless instructors who buy your act, that's what I'm saying."

He feigned a smug air and waved at me modestly. "Please, enough with the compliments, sir--"

"I'm not saying this to degrade you, twit, nor am I trying to swell your already enlarged head..."

Looking hurt, he self-consciously patted the top of his head daintily. "You can just _say_ you don't like the hair, sir--"

"However," I barreled on, deciding it would be done quicker if I just ignored him, "I'm forced to grudgingly admit that I like your attitude – compared to the many other attitudes of typical boys your age--"

He looked startled. "I have an attitude? Hm. That's new."

"Yes. But it's one I perceive as being `I'd buck the system intentionally if I really gave a shit, but I don't, so I'll just do as I please, and if I end up bucking it in the process, go me.'"

He nodded knowingly. "Ah, that one. Okay..." His eyes finally met mine and he studied me like he would a jigsaw puzzle. "And you're telling me this because...?"

I let out a breath – as if admitting defeat – and came to eye-level with him. "I need a favor."

He blinked in shock. "Oh. This is quite... unexpected--"

"Look," I rushed onward, "as I'm sure you've already guessed yourself, I'm hardly what one could label as a `traditional' instructor--"

The little bastard had me beat – before I could launch fully into my explanation, he cut in with a cheerful, "Aye, caught onto that when you set that kid's hair on fire in class to prove a point about paying attention when playing with hazardous chemicals."

"So what I'm going to ask you – oi, how'd you know about that?" He'd done it – managed to distract me. The sneaky little...

"The bloke you set aflame lives in me neighborhood back home. That was when I knew I had to come to _this_ school."

I paused to feel the nostalgia wash over me, thinking back to those carefree days of yesteryear... "Ah... How is Adam these days?"

"Bald."

I shook myself and tried to start again. "Look, I may be non-traditional myself, but I still enjoy receiving a check. I do actually value my job, despite what I say... and do... and how I act... Anyway, I'm in a bit of a pinch right now, so I'm desperate. What I'm going to ask you is strictly confidential, okay? Not only could it lose me my job, but it could very well put me in prison – and put you, not in that imaginary boys' home you mentioned before, but a _real_ one."

Simon gave me a brief apologetic look, then shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, sir, but as much as it pains me to do so, I must refuse."

I hesitated, honestly surprised that he'd turn me down flat right away like that – before I'd even asked him anything! "I know you wouldn't want to risk your education – er – no, your freedom, but please, hear me out – I haven't even asked you--"

And before I knew it, I found myself in the middle of one of the strangest – and most disturbing – conversations I'd ever have with one of these boys.

"My body is not here for your enjoyment, sir, and besides that, you're simply not my type – I tend to sway towards ginger myself. Though I may be open for negotiation if a considerable price is involved, I simply cannot do it for free. It goes against my personal moral code."

I think my gawk could have been seen from an airplane.

When I found my voice again, I stammered, "...M-Moral... code?..." I shook my head, clearing my throat, and was sure to keep my voice _much_ lower as I went on, "Erm, _no_, wrong train of thought there, twit."

He stared at me blankly for a second, then understanding came over his face and his eyes grew almost double in size. "Oh? Oh..." Then he doubled-back again: "Hang on – you sure you don't wanna have a go? I'm a bit skint at the moment--"

"I'm quite sure," I answered quickly. Perhaps _too_ quickly.

His face drooped and he shrugged forlornly. "Oh. Okay, then--" And the sharply startled, paranoid look snuck back up on him as he hissed, "Oh – ehm... Then erase that tirade from your mind."

"Happily."

Straightening up, he asked in a much more confident tone, "What were you asking me?"

"Now, you understand that this is a very serious subject, yes?"

He smirked at me, an air of disbelief about him. "More serious than pimping myself out!?"

"Uh... In your case, I'm thinking, yes."

He shrugged that off as carelessly as anything else. "Damn. Am I that obvious a manwhore?"

"Would you shut up and listen to me, damnit!?"

"Sorry. Tourette's. Just can't stop it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Continue."

"...Where was I?"

"Fuck. Not on the prostitution train. Fuck."

"Right – very serious. So, can I trust that you won't go squealing on me if I ask you this favor? Even if I'm completely wrong in my characterization of you – though that would be going against astronomical odds--"

"Fuck. Shit. Fuck."

I put a hand to my head – the migraine was in the post, I knew...

"What's on your mind, teach?"

I sighed and looked at him pleadingly. "I'm not your teacher right now."

"Ahhh..." His all-too-knowing smile and nod almost made me feel like the soccer field had become a dingey street corner, minus the slutty streetwalkers... "Okaaay... How _else_ can I be of service?"

"You mean aside from the blatant mockery of sexual interest?"

"I told you to erase that from your mind."

"Sorry, it's kind of hard to forget now. I think I've been traumatized."

"You and every john I get--"

"Look, it's pretty common knowledge, even among the staff, although we have no proof one way or the other, it's just speculation and I think you've managed to win over enough people to _not_ incur a desire from anyone to actually accuse you of anything or warrant investigation--"

"That's a very long run-on sentence, Dr. House – don't you live with an English teacher?"

"We all _know_ you've got _something_ growing _somewhere_ which you probably harvest very regularly to sell to all your idiot brain-dead friends."

"Ah, the blunt truth, then, eh? Bring it on."

"So... if I don't ask where you get it, you won't tell anyone that I... that I'm... requesting some... Yes?"

He drew in a painfully long, slow breath through his nose, folding his arms over his chest as he did so. Then he let it out with a terribly dragging, "Hmmmmmm...."

"C'mon, twit--"

He snapped his head over to glance at me, raising his eyebrows. "You do know that's not my proper name, yes? You keep calling me `twit', but believe me, I'm no pregnant goldfish."

"Well, of course... Uh..." I acted aloof, scratching at my head. "What is it again?"

"Alexander."

"Right, I knew that."

"Like John and Paul's mate."

"Naturally."

"Who, I believe, functioned in the same capacity for them which you are requesting of me right now. Yes?"

I tightened my grip on his arm and lowered my head even more, glowering at him. "So you'll help me?"

He smiled, a perfect glint in his eyes. "Help you with what?"

I returned the gesture and patted his shoulder. "Good boy."

"So..." he mused as we finally continued to move, wandering slowly down the length of the bleachers with our respective canes in our hands. "Is this for a patient? Like, a really ill woman with four kids dying of cancer or something?"

I avoided his questioning gaze and glanced out over the field. "Yes, it's for a patient. _Me_."

"Ah. You know, you just took the entire noble vision I had in my head and wiped your own arse with it."

"So sorry to disappoint."

"I'll live. Oh, and I'm fine with just `Si' when you're not being my teacher. Otherwise I fully expect the whole `twit' this or 'twat' that tag."

I turned back to lift a teasing eyebrow at him. "Just `Si'? Not `Simone'?"

"You turned down my streetwalker persona, remember?"

"Right, right – you might want to see a psychiatrist about that, by the way."

"Nah – they'll just turn 'round and charge _me_ for the sex, then. And besides, I have mind-healing herbs to fix any mental problems."

"Ah!" I pointed a finger at his face, warning, "You just broke your own code by stating it outright!"

He stared back at me blankly, though a hint of an insult was lingering there as well. "What?" He pulled something from his pocket to show me – a pressed piece of some kind of flora. When I peered up at him curiously, he showed off that shit-eating grin again. "Lavender?"

I looked to the heavens and silently asked why they had to send me an angel in such a retarded, brilliant, annoying boy's body.

"Go take a lap."

"If I could, I'd've left you in the dust ages ago, buddy."


	5. Chapter 5

Lesson Five: How To Offer Constructive Criticism

Rating/Warnings: R for slashiness and such, language, bad jokes, and a slight 3some (not "the whole hog," hehe, but maybe a tail).

Feedback: is most welcome.

Disclaimer: I don't even own what I own. Not 'till I pay off my debt. So this ain't true and these guys don't, to my knowledge, like handjobs from other guys. (Though some have suggested they like oral with other guys... my count is up around eleven or twelve now...)

Dr. House:

Ah, sweet, sweet freedom. I could almost taste it that day as I made my way to the soccer fi—_football_ field for the routine hour-long irritant-fest that was physical education. The dean had finally called me to the office the day before to inform me that a new assistant was going to be starting the following week, so this day's period was to be my last. I was so bloody relieved that almost nothing in the world could have annoyed me in that moment.

Well... I reiterate – _almost_ nothing.

"Oi, Doc. You okay? You almost look... well... _happy_ today."

At first, I was sure that not even the tiring nags of one little Scottish twit could possibly drag me down. I stood and leant on my cane, gazing around at the active boys on the field with, yes, what could only be described as... a faint _smile_ on my face.

"You feelin' awright?"

"You've never seen a pleased face before?"

"Not on you... It's a bit frightening, actually. Could you stop?"

I chuckled as I took in the expanse of the field with my eyes; nope, not even a hint of a tear touching them as I repeated inwardly that it would be the last time (for the foreseeable future, anyway) I would do so. "No, twit, I don't believe I can. After today, I won't have to put up with any of this again."

A slight gasp beside me caused my lips to twitch even wider.

"Aw, you're done? That's not fair!"

"Yes, twit – this is my last class to supervise your unruly ass."

"_Maaan_... I've still got another week before I can ditch the cane."

I finally glanced down at him and stuck out my lower lip in mock sympathy.

"Well, it's okay," he assured me, and I finally took notice of the notebook he had open on his lap. "I forgive you."

I gestured to the paper, wrinkling my nose. "What's this? Not up for the usual pointless banter today, even if it's the _last time_ you can drive me insane with your ridiculous questions about how the Americans make Twinkies?"

He shrugged it off easily, explaining, "I thought I'd try to use this spare time constructively, you know. Work on something productive in this gap of infernal boredom."

I raised my eyebrows. "So glad to know I've been entertaining you all this time."

"Well, I can multitask," he insisted as he crouched over the notebook. "I'm just getting too fidgety sitting here doing nothin'..."

I scoffed, continuing to act insulted that he preferred a blank page over _my_ presence – of course, I would be glad to be rid of having to put up with him in this capacity, but at the same time, I couldn't very well be outdone by wood pulp.

"Aw, don't be upset," he cooed. "Just look at it as a way to cut down on some of my more brainless responses."

I tilted my head to the side, taking this into consideration. "That can work for me."

"Besides," he added bitterly, "can't very well work on my _own_ stuff after classes, as you monsters load us up with enough extra work to keep a sweatshop full of Chinese kids busy."

"We don't want you to waste _all_ your brain cells away on pornography and pot, twit," I pointed out, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We do it because we care. You know, idle hands are the devil's playground..."

"And God could use a good wank now and again, y'know," he muttered as he leaned down to start writing.

"Too true." For the next several minutes, then, the kid was miraculously quiet. Beautifully quiet. In fact, he was so quiet for so long that the silence began to grate on my nerves almost as much as his seemingly endless babble did. I couldn't help myself – I edged in closer to him, craning my neck to see past his obscuring shoulder. "What're you working on so intently, then?"

He sat up straighter again, his gaze still locked onto the notebook, a perplexed look on his face. "Well, I thought I'd start a short story or somethin', but I can't seem to find any inspiration. I'm currently stuck at brainstorming."

I inched even closer, hinting slightly that I could be of some help to him by asking, "So, what've you got brainstormed so far then?"

He stared up at me dully. "I'm still spelling it out, I mean," and he offered the notebook to my eyes, showing me the atrocious chicken scratch that barely passed for what I assumed was his penmanship. All he had written was "BRANESTRO..."

And this was supposed to be one of the top students in his class.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ever think you smoke _too_ much dope, Si?"

He laughed and scribbled it out, unknowingly relieving one of my secret fears as he redid the label correctly. All the while, he rambled, "I don't want to get too detailed or involved, like, but maybe some kind of middle bit, where you leave the reader wondering what led up to it and wanting to know how it'll end, but questions are never answered. But the story itself has to be engaging enough to stand on its own."

I straightened myself and drew in a deep breath, as if deep in thought. "Hmm..." Then I bounced to life, suggesting cheerfully, "Hey, why don't you write a story about me? _The Poor Underpaid Instructor Who_..."

"..._Annihilated An Entire Village With His Wit_?"

I nodded my approval. "I'd read it."

"Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I think I can do you one better!"

And for a few moments, he hunched over his notebook, scribbling away madly as he wrote what I figured would become the beginning of his debut best-selling novel...

"`The old, wizened, bitter hermit lived alone in his fortress of doom on the highest cliff of despair, yet somehow his happiness still eluded him...'"

I narrowed my eyes at him and poked him with my cane. "You're takin' the piss, aren't you?"

He glanced up briefly, catching the dissatisfaction in my tone and face, and amended, "Would you rather be a wizard? I can do fantasy!"

I rolled my eyes, but waved him on. "Fine, if you must..."

"`The aging, decrepit _wizard_ lived alone in his fortress of doom--'"

Before he could stop me, I stooped over and snatched the notebook from his lap. "Give me that. No more storytelling for you. You hack."

He scratched his head in confusion. "Was it the `old' bit? Or the `fortress of doom' thing? I'm open to constructive criticism."

"How about `You suck'?"

He gave me a ridiculous look. "That's not very constructive, is it?"

"Neither is your writing!" I hollered, flipping through the half-full, aging notebook as I continued on in a growling mumble, "Using your time constructively – I'll construct a way for my foot to cram itself up your ass--"

"Would that be considered `tough love' or `rape'?"

"It would be considered a favor to the world for sparing them your disturbed yarn."

"Oh, so you don't want to know how a certain beauty from the most powerful and revered kingdom turns your bitter, decrepit life around with a bit of kinky medieval nooky?"

I paused, eying him up dubiously. At his goofy, suggestive grin, I paged back furiously to his previous writings. "Where's that part?"

He sat back against the metal bench behind him, gazing up at the sky as he mused dreamily aloud, "I think I'll name the seductive temptress... `James.'"

It's a good thing I'm a doctor; if I hadn't come to my senses at the last second and re-aimed for not so vital an organ, I could have taken out one of his kidneys with how forceful I threw the notebook back at him.

"Go take a lap!"

Matt:

After Simon's nightly phone conversation with his mum, which I sometimes partook in just for kicks (usually grabbing the phone from him and demanding to know how such a sweet lady managed to give birth to such a ludicrous form of the human species, whilst being pounded on by said anomaly of the scientific world and treated to the fluttering, motherly laughter on the other end), Simon disappeared from the room to terrorize the Ginger Twins whilst I began another heavy duty round of studying. A sad telling of my extracurricular life, I know, plowing myself into schoolwork on a Friday night, but my paranoia about grades demanded it, and there didn't seem to be much else at the time to sway my attention. (Lord knows I had no interest in being there when Simon attempted a teabag on Ben during "bottomless wrestling" as punishment for pilfering Si's biscuits during lunch that day – Lord knows I had no interest in finding out if the trio actually _did_ have "bottomless wrestling" in the first place; as if I didn't have enough panic and stress in my life to go into paralytic dreams at night...)

Apparently, however, my distraction from studying was just waiting to get me alone before it came knocking at my door half an hour into trying to understand why exactly I had blue eyes and black hair when my elder brother didn't. I can't say it wasn't a welcome interruption to open the door to Dom's hesitant but wide eyes, but there was something distinctly strange to how he stood there holding a few books over his abdomen and leaning against the doorframe as if he'd just been running round the football field.

"Hey, man," he said casually, though his voice came out a bit raspy. "Um..." His eyes scanned the room behind me quickly before he asked quietly, "Think I could maybe, uh... borrow your room for a bit?"

I stared dumbly at him. "Huh? Borrow?"

"Yeah," he said, a slight chuckle to his voice. "You can have it back, of course, but, um... Well, see..." He winced, shifting uncomfortably, though he refused to move the books away from his belly. "I, uh, I've got somethin' I gotta get done, and I pretty much need no interruptions..."

My attention switched back and forth between his pleading eyes and the unexplained books a few times, and from the flush in his cheeks and the clever avoidance of meeting my gaze, I finally understood that this was not a request for some tutoring.

But I had to make him work for it, of course. This was just too funny to let go so easily.

"That's what the library's for, Dom."

"I can't – I don't feel like going all the way down there."

"And what's wrong with _your_ room?"

He made a face of disdain. "Chris invited a bunch of the guys in to see the game..."

"Ah, of course. Look, man, I would, but I'm studying in here..."

"C'mon, man, just a little while--"

"Oh, fuck off!" I exclaimed, grinning wickedly. "Do it in the loo or somethin', fuck's sake--"

"I _can't_! Liam was sick in there earlier and you know the janitorial staff's already threatening to strike if the dean makes them come on this floor again—"

"Are you tryin' to kick me outta me own room!? Just so you can get a bit of a wank!?"

He rolled his eyes, obviously aggravated by my blatant proclamation to the rest of the floor of his true intentions. But he pressed on. "Well, yeah, I guess so... But..." He finally caught my eye and smirked a bit. "Well, you know, you don't _have_ to leave, really, I suppose – I mean, I'm not _so_ frigid that I wouldn't be able to do it around _you_--"

I reeled back from the door, wailing loudly, "Awwww, _maaaaan_!"

"I'm serious!" he insisted in a hushed hiss. ""C'mon, mate, I'm desperate! Why d'you think I've got all these books, eh?"

I stood up straight again and proposed comically, "To _study?_"

"To _hide_ it! Look, it's not that big a deal--"

"You think I'll be able to concentrate on genetics, knowin' you'll be sat on my bed jerkin' off!?"

His shoulders sagged and he gave me a haughty look, throwing back, "Why wouldn't you? You interested in seein' or somethin'?"

"_NO!_" I burst out, unintentionally forceful and booming. I cleared my throat at his cheeky smile and added more calmly, "'Course not."

"So? What's the big deal?" And before I could protest again, he pushed past me into the room, nudging me aside and closing the door with his foot. He smiled wryly at me for just a second, then breezed past as he tossed the books into my arms. "That was my cover, remember," he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way to my bed.

I instantly tensed and dropped the books to the floor, making a disgusted face and wiping my hands on my shirt.

"Well, just... Oh God..." I fussed as he made himself _too_ comfortable on my bed. "Just don't... Bloody hell... Don't, like, make a complete mess or anythin', eh? Have a heart, wouldja? Here -" And I tossed an entire box of unopened tissues over the headboard to him before throwing myself back into my desk chair, feeling jittery. "At least keep me duvet dry. Fuck."

"Thanks, mate," came the pleased voice. A pause, and then wistfully, "Where's Simon?"

"Where d'ya think?" I barked irritably, desperately attempting to bury my face in my textbooks without the words going all fuzzy.

"Ah. Do you think they really have bottomless wrestling matches with each other?"

"I don't _care_."

"Well, do you think hanging out with twins is really as hot as everyone says it is?"

I slammed my textbook down onto my desk and spat out, "God, Dom, is that all you ever think about!? Gettin' off?"

"Pretty much," he sighed, and I was so glad in that moment that he was on the other side of the headboard; I just knew I wouldn't have been able to concentrate if he was right in front of me.

Of course, I didn't really know _why_ I was so unnerved that my best mate was in my room... doing... _that_... If what he said was true, then it _shouldn't_ have bothered me... _that_ much. I knew it was a normal function of the species, that sometimes we men had an urge to just...

Oh God, but I just couldn't handle the thought of it then! I was too busy trying to _work_, and all he could think about was...

"Oi," he called in a stern tone, "I'm a healthy seventeen-year-old boy, of _course_ it's all I care about right now..."

Which, naturally, was completely sensible.

Still, knowing this fact did nothing to help abate the shakiness inside my belly. It wasn't quite nausea – but it was slightly similar. I couldn't quite explain it, but I felt nervous all of a sudden, _nervous_, around someone I'd been close to for _years_! It hardly felt normal... it felt so much... _more_ than...

Well, than if _Simon_ had come up to me and said, "Mate, I gotta wank, just pretend to be asleep."

Which, I must admit, had happened in the previous two months – not that literal exchange, and from both of us, but it's an unspoken understanding. You just don't _talk _about it. You just know what needs to be done. And we all know it.

I never felt _jittery_ at the thought before.

My only comfort in that moment was that I hadn't actually heard a zipper yet or anything... not that I'd been listening, of course... so after a few moments, I began to calm down a little.

And then Dom added sneakily, "'Course, it'd be a lot more fun to actually get _laid_, but until I can find someone willing to do that, I'll settle for my own hand – or someone else's..."

I immediately went frigid again, lowering my head into the book. "Cor, you're disturbed!"

"Am not, _you're_ the one with problems if you say you're not interested."

Oh. He had only been talking about sex in general. So why the fuck was I getting so worked up--

Bad choice of words.

Bloody hell, I couldn't think straight - "Well, I... Of course I'm..." I couldn't believe I was actually taking this conversation – with Dom, who was on my bed, ready to love his hand into oblivion – _seriously_. I let out a frustrated sigh and blurted, "Of course I'm _interested_, but I doubt I'd ever go to my mate's room to do it!"

"I told you, I'm desperate!" he repeated. "Bloody hell, I think I'm backed up, actually--"

"Oh, just shut up and finish, will you!?"

"Finish!? Blimey, you're a quick one, aren't you? I haven't even started yet!"

I rolled my eyes to myself and wished furiously to disappear into the open book in front of me.

No – genetics, reproduction, offspring: it was all too close to the subject I was trying to avoid at the moment.

"Y'know," Dom said quietly, "you can, like, turn on some music or something if you like..."

"I'm trying to study!" I sputtered, lifting my head and scanning the meaningless paragraphs frantically to find where I'd left off.

Dom only snickered at that excuse. "Right – like you can actually pay attention without any noise. Besides, it might get me in the mood."

I shuddered – a real, bona fide shudder, felt it throughout my whole body – and cursed inwardly at my weakness. Why the hell was this getting to me!?

"Cor, stop talkin' like that," I muttered. "Gimme fuckin' nightmares..."

There was another lengthy pause, and then Dom mused, "Man, maybe Simon's right about you."

This caught my attention enough to make me forget the shaky feeling in my gut, and I sat up straighter, staring blankly at the wall in front of me. "What you mean by that?"

"Maybe you _are_ wound a bit too tight," Dom chuckled, obviously bemused by my apparent flustered nature. "You need to loosen up, mate. Chill out..." There went the zipper. "Just like this..."

"Aw God," I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

"No, really," he insisted. "Come over here--"

"_NO!_"

"Come _ooooon_," he whined, though there was still a slight lilt to his voice. "C'mere 'n sit with me, get your nose outta that bloody book--"

"I'm _trying_--"

"To study, I know. Well, forget about it. Just give his advice some attention and get out of that bloody book for a while, eh?"

Bloody hell. He was right, too. No wonder I was feeling so tense – I'd been swimming through heaps of work all week, and when the weekend finally came, I was still trying to muddle through. It was pointless, really. All it did was make my stomach lurch, and not in the pleasant way it did when I--

Oh. Oh God. I froze in my place when I finally made the connection in my head. The connection between what I felt when I was in the state Dom was in that moment, and what I felt when I thought about Dom having a roll with his hands in my sheets.

It was like the realisation I'd come to when he'd quizzed me on who I'd go for if I was forced to be with a guy. When the words came tumbling out without thinking, and in the moment they escaped, I'd realised how true they were – and how startling that was to me.

So finding this link in my brain, this new, rather off-putting link I had never counted on finding within myself, was quite... well... _scary_.

"Maaaatt--"

I sighed heavily, knowing that I was just like a puppet – as much as I moaned and bitched, when Dom got that tone with me, I was on his string. I slid out of my chair and shuffled to the other side of the headboard, ready to cast my exasperated glare on him...

But when I turned, I nearly choked when I saw him sitting there so casually, legs bent and splayed, flies undone and... _him_... just... _out_...

"Jesus, Dom!" I shouted, automatically flinching and looking away. "Put it away, will ya!?"

He was enjoying this – I could hear the laughter in his voice as he reasoned, "What? You knew what I was doing!"

"Yeah, but... But I don't have to bloody _watch_, do I?"

I must have blanked out the sense of vision from my brain, because even though my eyes were looking everywhere but _there_, I still couldn't see a goddamn thing.

Yet I could see in my mind his playfully suggestive smirk as he hinted, "Hey, it might make it go faster for me--"

"Jesus--"

"C'mon, really," he assured me, finally sounding relatively serious. "Look, I put it away, okay? Well, not _totally_, but, y'know, it's not _out_, out..."

I hazarded a glance towards him and was relieved that he was telling the truth. He gestured to the space beside him and urged, "C'mon, sit down. Just sit next to me, is all. Okay?"

Hesitantly, not sure exactly what I was doing or where this was going, I timidly knelt on the bed and shuffled my way to his side, mimicking his position as I sat back against the wall.

I stared hard at my hands as they rested on my bent knees, feeling my skin flush red and my insides start to do somersaults all over again. If I stared fiercely enough at my knuckles, I thought, perhaps this uncertainty could go away, and I would be free to...

To what? I wondered. What was it that I wanted to do? Run screaming from the room? Slap him over the head and scold him for interrupting my schoolwork? Or maybe... maybe I wanted to...

"Here," he said, and his tone this time was surprisingly quiet and gentle, right next to my ear. I stayed frozen at first, could feel my throat wanting to swallow, but all I could get out was a massive _gulp_.

I could feel his bloody breath on my neck, I swore. Like he was turning to me or something. And then I felt a hand on my chin, tilting my head slightly to face him. And when my eyes met his, he was nowhere near as playful or haughty as before. In fact, there was even a hint of... insecurity in his gaze. I blinked at the sight of it, startled to see it from my mate. Dom was always a funny sort of bloke, but I never took him for being... _insecure_. Maybe a little surly, or even flexible at times. But to see him watching me as if he were waiting for _my_ approval, it was something entirely new to me.

Like he cared what I thought.

I gulped again, watched his eyes flicker from mine to my mouth and back again. And I realised, as his gaze danced around my own, his arm was flexing slightly and relaxing again. Bloody hell, I thought – he really _is_, he's doing it... whilst lookin' at _me_.

I blinked several times again, finally noticing how fast I was breathing. I had to calm down, I told myself, had to keep my heart from pounding like that – that surely couldn't be healthy...

Dom's gaze lowered even more, and he gestured for me to follow. And for some reason, perhaps some kind of hypnosis trick he'd secretly used on me, I obeyed. And I watched, I watched him as he stroked himself inside his open trousers – and I didn't burst into flames, or flee from the room. I hardly even flinched this time. Just watching him do it, knowing that he'd been touching himself whilst studying me – somehow, it wasn't disgusting or frightening at all to me then.

"See?" he whispered hoarsely, incredibly close to my ear. "Not _that_ scary, is it?"

I swallowed hard and rasped, "Well it's... not like I ain't never... seen one..."

"Here," he said, and before I could protest, he'd taken my hand and pulled it down to his waist, urging me gently to slide it inside his trousers.

As a delayed reaction, my fingers were already halfway inside when I tensed again, drawing in a sharp breath.

He caught my now fuzzy gaze again with his own and pleaded, "Just... help me out a bit, eh?"

I bit my lip to keep the automatic protest from coming out, and soon felt the soft, fleshy heat against my palm. I tried to remember to breathe, but every time I did, my head would go light and dizzy, and the less I wanted to protest as he pulled me closer.

"D-Dom," I croaked out as his lips brushed the side of my face. "Y-You're... bein' kinda... weird..."

I could feel him smiling and my eyelashes fluttered as I took notice of the rhythmic pulsing from my hand.

"But your cheeks are red," he pointed out.

"S-So?" I wheezed, my chest starting to heave a bit. This wasn't happening, I thought deliriously. It... It wouldn't have been _so_ odd, I told myself, but it simply wasn't actually happening. It was too surreal, too fuzzy, too completely out of focus and apart from reality...

And then Dom's voice was reaching me from beyond that mesmerising fog, a soft voice that sounded like he was asking me for something...

"Ever think... maybe... bein' here with no one else but these other guys... maybe not all of 'em... but there might be one or two in particular... Well, are you not, like... curious?"

Again the robot in me took over – but my voice was much huskier than a robot's: "No, of course I'm n-not..."

"If not, why can't you look away then?"

He was right, again; I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight of my hand around him, of his half-covered hips rising ever so slightly before falling back again, only to repeat the action again. His hand covering my own, I was losing my breath watching as I pleasured him – and here I was trying to say I wasn't _curious_...

"Sh-shut up," I mumbled sluggishly, though a slight smirk had somehow crawled its way onto my face to make the intended snap come out more like a tease.

"C'mon," he urged, his fingers pressing against mine more firmly. "Just a little bit more..."

I could feel the once jittery, shaken sensations inside me settle down – down to my belly, my gut, and lower, to rest comfortably in my groin; the throbbing arousal in my hand soon matching the one in myself. I was utterly entranced by this, this closeness we shared, this almost magically inspired intimacy and quiet between us...

And that quiet was instantaneously shattered and destroyed with the bursting open of the door, so hard that it flew back and bounced off the wall with a deafening _**THUD!!**_

That and the accompanying shriek of, "_BLAST THOSE BLOODY ALIENS!! THEY SHALL RUE THE DAY THEY ENTERED MY KINGDOM!!_"

I yanked my hand out of that pair of trousers and flew to the far end of the bed so fast that Dom could only wail in pain as I freed myself.

My heart racing even faster than before, my head jerked around sharply to take in...

Bloody hell...

Simon. Not just Simon. But Simon... in shiny blue boxers and a pink cotton top so loose that it hung to expose most of his chest... with a small red blanket tied around his throat to serve as a cape... and an elegant black and violent mask over his eyes, complete with multicolored glitter and bright blue and purple feathers.

Standing there in all his absurdly-costumed, Simon-ly glory, looking back at the two of us stunned puppies with also surprised eyes – but not nearly as much horror.

"Jesus, Matt," he quipped, his mouth already twisted into a wry half smile. "Pull any faster, you'll castrate the poor boy."

I immediately felt my insides turning from fluttery and aroused – to downright churning, burning nausea. I didn't have to look, but I suspected strongly that Dom was experiencing much the same pain as I.

"Oh," Simon went on, sounding faintly startled. "Was I, ehm... interrupting something--"

At the exact same moment I screeched my so-convincing, "_**NO!!**_" Dom was giving off a similar sound – though his came out more like, _**"YES!!**_**"**

I could just barely make out the dark eyebrows lifting over the edge of the mask. "Ah, I see..." Simon nodded vaguely and made a show of closing the door. "Okay then..."

"What do you want!?" I demanded, realising I was curled up into a ball with my arms clutched protectively around my knees.

He turned his attention to me and smirked as he came further into the room. "Just to catch you two in the act, _finally_. But apart from that, I just came for my ping pong paddle – someone's been very naughty and needs a spanking..." Said as simply as that, like toting this flamboyantly tawdry attitude was a snap. He ducked down at the foot of his bed and pulled out a box from underneath, claiming said object from the depths of it – and then he stood, paused for a moment, and plucked something else from behind a stack of books on his dresser.

As he made his way back to the center of the room, paddle in one hand and the other hidden under his cape, he held up his visible arm and asked, "While I've got it out, either of you two wanna go?"

This time Dom and I shouted in unison: _**"NO!!**_"

Simon feigned being blown back by the force of our voices, then steadied himself. "Okay, all right, I get it," he gave in, tip-toeing daintily back closer to the door. "The lovebirds don't want any outside participation--"

I finally found my voice again and blurted out shrilly, "We are not lovebirds! God, you're crass!"

He halted suddenly, achingly far away from the door, and turned back, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Dom. And the smirk on his face grew into an impish grin. "Am I? Aw, look – you've gone and made poor wee Dom upset--"

I snapped my head around the other way, just barely catching the faintly hurt expression on his face before Dom recovered himself and retorted, "Shut up, I am not upset."

I looked back to Simon, who was obviously not buying it. "No? Not upset, eh?" He took a few hopping steps – reminding me of a skulking robber in black and white stripes, for fuck's sake – back towards us and raised his eyebrows at Dom. "Not the least bit put off that you've been kicked to the curb barely before he had time to draw the breath to reject you?"

The bastard's intuition was so sharp I could've cut his balls off with it...

I blinked at Dom, startled at this realisation – that he _was_ hurt at my immediate brush-off of him – and was even more convinced that Simon was right when Dom tensed a bit and stammered irritably, "Just... J-Just... get out, will you!?"

I may have inadvertently bruised my mate's feelings, but now I was right on his side, so I had no problem this time redirecting my attention and ordering, "Yeah, get your paddle or whatever and get lost!"

Simon was not an easy bloke to intimidate – or humiliate, for that matter. He simply stood up straight, raising his chin high, and feigned an air of despair. "_Fine_," he mock-sobbed. "Okay then! I'll just _go!_" His tone changed to normal then – at least, his normally _sadistic_ tone, that is – and he added knowingly, "I can see when I'm not... _wanted_..."

But just as he was about to make as grand an exit as he'd made an entrance, he stopped, turned back to us, and pointed his paddle to me. "Though I should warn you, Matt, you're goin' about a handjob in entirely the wrong way..."

I cringed at the very plain speech, but even that tell wasn't enough to persuade me he wasn't fooled; I weakly protested, "W-What're you... t-talkin'--"

"Oh, give it up already," Simon groaned, arms sagging to show how my pathetic attempt to cover up was as lame as it sounded coming out. "I'm not fuckin' daft, y'know. In fact, I'd bet it's fair to say I'm a tad bit more experienced in this arena than the two of you combined."

"So?" Dom added in a surly sneer, clearly insulted at such a suggestion.

"So, I'm askin', d'you want my help or no?"

Inexplicably, Dom and I had nothing to say – we merely paused, exchanged vaguely curious glanced, and then looked back at Simon expectantly.

"Mum's the word," he answered immediately, pressing his paddle to his chest. "Swear it on me guitar."

Well, having been his roommate for the past two months, I knew how bloody important _that_ promise was. He may as well have sworn on his mum's health.

I drew in a courageous breath and dared to start treading the frightening waters: "So... what... what'm I doin'... wrong?"

And Simon was instantly in instructional mode. He tossed the paddle onto his own bed, then turned to us, coming right up against the side of mine and putting his hands on his hips. With the cape still flowing over his shoulders, like some Superhero of Sex or something...

"Well, first of all, it's always best to have it out. As in, _out_, out." He waved at Dom and nodded. "C'mon, Dom. Be a sport."

The gawk he got was almost laugh-worthy, but I was still too stunned to react appropriately.

"What?" came the dull response.

"C'mon, y'heard me," Professor Simon chided. "Whip it out."

Dom's jaw nearly broke off. "_WHAT!?_ I'm not gonna--"

"Well, ya gotta get it out if I'm gonna show him how to do it right, eh?" the hero reasoned.

"I'm not going to undress in front of _you!_" Dom shrieked in anguish.

"Y'don't have to, just yank it out," Simon ordered casually.

"No fuckin' way!"

A great big sick grin split Simon's face as he leaned in and promised in a confidential tone, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours..."

"_I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR COCK!"_

I tried, somewhere in the back of my shellshocked brain, to imagine being a random passerby outside...

"And I _don't_ want you eyin' mine up either!"

Simon, of course, was ever so daring: instead of backing slowly away from the rabid dog, he got closer by crawling onto the bed, kneeling right in front of Dom. As I've said, he was always a braver man than I...

"Look," he went on, his voice the epitome of practicality and logic, "if the lovebirds don't exist, as you say, and there's nothin' goin' on here but two mates in a pinch, then why would it matter who's lookin'? Unless you've got something to hide, if it's just a desperation thing, then what's it matter who it is? Eh, Dom?"

When Dom simply continued to stare at him, unsure of what to say, Simon gestured to me with his head. "Or do you only want _him_ to do it?"

Again, Dom was speechless. He glanced at my petrified face a few times before I finally broke the silence and decided for him... for _us_...

Maybe a little hand action was needed... but for any individual, specified _involvement_ to be happening... that was still just a bit too much for me to handle at the time...

"It's just a... just a desperation thing... like you said, Dom... right?"

Almost as if I was pleading with him not to start anything too heavy right now. To keep it at bay, to make it easier... for _me_...

He watched me closely for a long time before coming to a decision – and finally, sighing heavily, he relaxed his muscles and obeyed Simon's orders.

At the naked exposure, Simon obviously couldn't help but glance down and smirk evilly. "Not bad, mate." He leaned in to me and whispered, "But y'gotta remember, this ain't flaccid--"

"Shut up," Dom growled, and with just one glimpse, I could tell that he was – well – not nearly as aroused as he'd been only a few minutes before. I hardly wondered why...

"Okay," Simon said, back in instructor mode, "now, first off, you can't just go grabbin' and yankin' away--" And just as he said it, he did _exactly_ that.

Dom instantly doubled up, howling in pain, "_**OW!!**_ Jesus, Si!"

"See?" Simon said to me. "That really hurts."

"Ya could've just _said_ so!" Dom wailed, trying desperately to recover from the mauling. "Christ... Y'know, he _is_ a guy, he could've just _guessed_ at that one!"

"Also," he went on, not even paying attention to Dom's agony, "a dry hand ain't always the nicest thing, eh? So try some a' this--" And he finally revealed the mysterious other object he'd had in his hand all this time: a (seemingly half-used) tube of lube. "Smooth sailin', right?" And as he spoke, he proceeded to open it and spread a small amount on his hand. "Now, y'don't need a whole lot, unless you're talkin' the whole hog – then you'd probably prefer quite a bit more – y'know, it's a bit tough shovin' somethin' the size of a, well, _cock_ into the somethin' the size of--"

"Would you just get on with it!?" Dom hollered, getting fed up with Simon's step-by-step manual to messing around.

"Oi, fine, okay," Simon gave in, and went to reach for Dom again – but Dom stopped him, twisting his hand away by the wrist. Simon raised his eyebrows in question, especially interested when he saw the smile forcing its way onto Dom's face.

This piqued my own interest as well, even through the dazed realisation of what was actually going on here. Was Dom, I secretly worried... enjoying this?

"Mate," Dom whined, avoiding eye-contact with Simon at all costs. "You..." A full-on laugh escaped his mouth before he could finally get out, "You gotta fuckin' take that bloody mask off... I mean, come _on_..."

Simon blinked, startled, as if he'd completely forgotten about his ridiculous outfit. "Oh, right – fine, y'don't wanna be hand-raped by Gay Zorro? Fine then!" And he pulled the mask off, tossing it to the side. "The cape stays," he warned.

Dom rolled his eyes, waving it away. "Whatever. I just couldn't possibly take you seriously like that, man, for fuck's sake--"

And in another instant, Simon seemed to shift into an all together new direction – he suddenly leaned in very close to Dom, only inches away from his face, and Dom had no choice but to look back into his demanding, piercing eyes. The change was apparent to him as well, because suddenly Dom wasn't able to keep his grin from fading, and the abrupt shift seemed to catch him off-guard. With a slight gasp, he was staring back into Simon's unusually serious face, all play and amusement gone, as if transfixed by something I couldn't see from the sidelines.

Then I realised what exactly had stopped Dom so sharply – it was the hand on him, between his spread legs, slowly, almost teasingly stroking him repeatedly. I felt a jump in my gut as I watched, watched Dom slip from his usually dominant, sly personality into a startled but indulgent experimentalist. His eyelids fluttered and his breathing became staggered as Simon worked at his cock, not looking down once or hesitating as I had. He seemed to know exactly how to make Dom flinch with weakness, how to build him back up to where he'd been before the untimely interruption. And in no time, Dom was back in that trance we'd been in not long before.

Simon backed off a little from him, but the intensity of the sensations Dom was feeling obviously wasn't abating. Instead, he had to rest his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, and let his arms go slack at his sides as Simon did all the work. Dumbfounded, and more than a little speechless, I could only watch – slightly in awe, slightly in... envy... - as Dom slowly came undone; before long, he was gulping down gasps of air and swallowing hard, moaning slightly and wincing as if in pain – but he didn't protest or push him away, not even when Simon slid his other hand over his hip – I didn't know why, but the slightly jealous part of me insisted it was just so he could touch him more...

And then I saw that he was moving him, actually directing Dom's hips and maneuvering him into a steady rhythm, controlling him completely. My eyes widened – the Dom _I_ knew would never have let anyone _control_ him like that, but in that moment, he seemed to relish it, moaning in such a sultry way that I shuddered – and that shudder was nothing near disgusted.

I was transfixed; even with Simon in the room, even with Simon _doing_ it, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Dom – I'd never seen him like that, so utterly lost for control, giving in to every touch and every gesture. He was lost in the act, it seemed, and a few times I was almost certain he was going to come... but every time that happened, Simon slowed, easing up until Dom was "safe" again.

I'd become so entranced by the sight of it, of Dom getting handled like this, that I completely forgot about any jealousy – and so I should have. Because then I felt another hand over my own, and blinked fiercely, dragging my attention away from Dom's face to look over at Simon.

Simon shook his head minutely, mumbling softly to me, "Don't look at me – he's the one you want, not me, eh?"

Not even him saying it outright like that was enough to break my mood this time. I obeyed, keeping my attention on Dom, and let Simon guide me closer. I made my way to Dom's side again, and Simon pulled my hand lower, replacing his with mine instead. His longer fingers enveloping mine, I let him show me just how much pressure to use, how fast to go, where to tighten my grip, when to let my thumb rub over the tip – all the tiny details that went into making Dom tremble as he got closer to his orgasm.

"All you need to do, really," Simon said softly, resting his head on my shoulder so his lips were right near my ear, "is watch him. That's all. Just pay attention. So many people forget to do that. Just _pay attention_ to the one you're lovin', an' they'll tell you what they want. Besides – you two've got more between ya than just a fuckin' handjob – you'll learn as ya go, eh?"

And with that tiny, easily followed piece of advice, Simon let go of my hand and slid silently off the bed.

Dom hadn't even finished yet, but Simon was already grabbing his paddle and heading for the door, whispering to me with a glint in his eyes, "My job here is done – I'm off to go paddle some Ginger asses now. Have fun." And he slipped out _much_ more quietly than he'd come in.

And only a few minutes later, Dom was grabbing me by the hair and yanking me to him, kissing me deeply and blindly as he yelled into my mouth, and I felt his cum filling my hand.

And it wasn't disgusting at all – any of it.

When he'd recovered, he opened his eyes and looked into mine, a faint smile on his lips.

"Uh... w-wow," he breathed, chuckling slightly. "Um... Th-That was... quite a help. Uh... Thank you."

I was about to make some kind of smart-ass comment back, to lighten the mood or try to distract from what we'd just done...

But having seen what went on in his eyes as he'd gotten so aroused, and then when he'd come, that needy, boundless kiss he'd given me... Well, suddenly, I just didn't have the heart.

"Anytime."

At my rather bleak, if slightly confused tone, Dom studied me carefully; I could tell he did this, but I found it difficult to look back at him. Remembering Simon's words, about Dom and I having more... Well...

Suddenly, I didn't _want_ to hear a "thank you."

Dom must have read something correctly on my face, because instead of brushing me off and launching back to his room – and instead of nudging me and giggling about what silly, naughty boys we were for doing anything the least bit sexual with someone of the same sex – he leaned forward, reached up with both hands to cup my face in his hands, and pulled me closer to him. His eyes open and alert, he looked deep into mine and whispered again, with a much different meaning behind it, "Thank you."

I couldn't help it; the shy, timid smile broke onto my face before I could stop it. He grinned back, like we had some precious secret between us now, and placed a chaste, sincere kiss on my lips.

"Anytime," I repeated – and this time, I meant it too.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Lesson Six: How To Offer Assurance

Rating/Warnings: NC-17 – slashy smut, language, probably more but that's about all I need to put, then, ain't it??

Feedback: is welcome :)

Disclaimer: This is fiction. These characters were ripped from another dimension. Well, okay, House is obviously a character from someone else's imagination, but the others are all my imaginary friends... based on real people – but just their massively attractive physical aspects – and perhaps some random quirks... I ain't gettin' paid anythin' for this, except, perhaps, as my ego starves for it, some nice comments?...

Dr. House:

Maybe it's wrong of me, but I've always loved the hours after school when I'm home alone, no one around to bother me. That day was no different than any other time Jim couldn't come home right away, leaving me to my own devices – perhaps even under the strained delusion (or hope) that I would actually be doing something productive, like classwork for the future, or helping to plan some kind of social function for the boys.

That simply wasn't my bag; I left the extracurricular interest in these boys' lives up to him. Besides, I was sure none of them cared much to have the likes of _me_ nosing around in their business, setting up potential play-dates with the rest of the nearby town to get them active in their society – maybe even meet friends – _girls_ – outside of the school.

Well, at least all but _one_ offbeat student who felt some inexplicable connection to me that no one – not even he or I, I suspect – could rationalize.

I supposed he had his reasons, even if he couldn't verbalize them. But it still perplexed me. And all I wanted to do was earn my paycheck and get the hell away from those disease-infested brats, but he insisted on edging his way into my life despite my attempts to stay away.

The infuriating thing was that he wasn't forcing it on me in any kind of blunt, tangible way – which is exactly why I found myself... actually _interested_. Actually... _connected_. I'd always veered away from things that everyone else found intriguing; but sometimes subtlety has its place, and whether it was for the same reasons as everyone else had for liking the kid, or if I just appreciated how he clashed so quietly and acceptingly with the rest of the world, I couldn't stop myself from... _liking_ him.

These strange inklings I felt, however, were the furthest thing from my mind that Friday afternoon, when the sun was low and I knew I still had a few good hours to bask in comfortable solitude. By my third beer, I'd sauntered out onto the front porch and was lounging lazily on the wooden railing Jim had been nagging me since summer to have repainted. I picked thoughtlessly at the old, flaking paint and sighed, allowing myself to enjoy the cool, breezy end of the day. It was quite lovely, really, this autumn weather which was still touched vaguely with summer, but also with a twinge of anticipated freeze. Felt refreshing, like a new beginning, like every new schoolyear began – even if it was well into the second month...

I began to stare off into space, then, distracted by the wondering of how many days had actually passed since the start of the new term. I squinted at the grey-blue sky, lost in thought, counting by weeks and so forth...

I didn't even register the darkly-clad figure meandering up the sidewalk, or that it had stopped just at the walkway to the porch. It wasn't until the voice reached my ears that I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

"Hello, Doc."

Caught up in my own head, I glanced at him briefly before nodding my acknowledgement and looking away again, greeting him distractedly, "Hello, Simon."

Seven weeks, was it? Nearly eight? November was right around the corner, so I would have to start thinking up a new exam format before then to give the brats for a midterm--

I suddenly snapped my head around, gaping at the easy-going smile and twinkling blue eyes. "...S-_Simon!?"_

His hands shoved into jacket pockets, an air of nonchalance and casualness to him, he nodded once. "Aye." Standing there expectantly, just at the edge of my beloved property.

My eyes bugging out, I stammered thoughtlessly, "W-Wha...What the hell're you doing here!?"

He chuckled and shrugged vaguely, stepping closer to the porch. "Ah, what, a student can't visit his favorite teacher at home?"

"Yes, of course," I answered warily, keeping my keen eyes on him as he trudged up the steps to where I was leant on the railing. I couldn't help but notice, as he drew closer, that the aforementioned "twinkle" to his eyes was... somewhat diluted today, and I had a feeling it wasn't just a trick of the fading light. But the smile was still there, so at least I knew he hadn't lost all his humor yet. "But why are _you here_?"

He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, feigning an air of despair. "All right, your interminable line of cruel and unusual interrogation has rendered me unable to lie." He freed his hands from his pockets and held his arms out helplessly. "The government uncovered my secret identity as a terrorist-slash-international jewel thief and is firing up a massive intelligent missile with my genetic code programmed into it as we speak. Naturally, I thought I'd come and give you a great big hug goodbye before we're both blown to smithereens."

I glared back at his open arms cautiously, narrowing my eyes at his morbid grin. Finally I shook my head, snickering to myself. "...Your imagination grows so much more rampant these days, I almost believed you."

He pulled an exaggerated face of triumph and pointed to me. "I had you for a second, didn't I?"

Rolling my eyes, I gestured to him with my beer bottle. "I worry for your psyche, young man. How long until you start believing yourself?"

"Round about supper, I'm thinking. Hopefully by then I'll believe I'm Dostoevsky."

I crooked an eyebrow. "`Hopefully'?"

He nodded vigorously. "He was brilliant, aye... Anyway, I was just out for a walk," he explained normally. "Thought I'd drop in on ya."

I snorted at that, shuffling backwards, sans cane, to the bench swing in front of the living room window. I settled into it comfortably and pointed out, "Shouldn't you be back in your dorm, frying your brain on weed and listening to Pink Floyd albums?"

He leant against the railing behind him and raised his own eyebrows at me, adding curiously, "Shouldn't _you?_"

I considered this for a moment; couldn't very well deny it – not in front of my very own personal _dealer_, for fuck's sake... "Fair call," I mumbled, then cleared my throat and moved onto my next very pressing concern.... "So... how did you know where I live?"

"It's in the school's directory."

I stopped abruptly, wincing; I'd forgotten about that tiny little detail I'd always had an issue with – every year I meant to take the matter up with the dean, and every year, these insane hoodlums distracted me with new pseudo-problems (like a Celine Dion Devil poster and proper diet of aliens) before I could recall my intentions.

"...Ah...Right." At least the kid had provided me with something useful during that visit – he'd reminded me that I would have to hunt down the dean and thrash him violently before classes started Monday...

"Y'know, drinking's bad for your health," Simon cut in suddenly, and when I gave him an absurd look, clearly unbelieving that he should be concerned with _this_, he gave me a truly worrisome face. "What if you spilled that in your eye? You could go blind. How's Jimmy going to turn you on if you can't see him?"

Bloody brat should've been studying drama.

I rolled my eyes again, but decided to play along instead of pointing the finger at who was the bigger spaz. Scoffing, I informed him in a surly tone, "There are plenty other ways to start a human engine, twit – I assumed _you_ of all people would know that..."

He shrugged again, cringing. "Well, I've only ever heard him yell at you, so unless you're a masochist, I figured bein' nagged wouldn't do it for you."

"Don't keep yourself up at night wondering how your instructors get it on. _That's_ bad for _your_ health..." I finally took a moment to eye him up, taking in his unusually hunched, withdrawn stance, several feet away from me when he'd so purposefully imposed himself on me in several ways those weeks I'd spent "supervising" him during gym. Something wasn't quite right, I realized, and tried to hide the faint, honest curiosity in my voice as I asked, "So why are you _really_ here?"

"Well, since the dean found a new assistant for the coach, I've missed seein' you in gym." Perfectly reasonable explanation – well, in _our_ worlds anyway; most people wouldn't seek me out by their own accord, and certainly not because they _missed_ me.

"Can't say the feeling's mutual." Like I'd ever tell the kid I'd enjoyed it too. I gestured to his cane-free hands. "But your foot's better now, isn't it? You're able to play again. That should make you happy..."

"I know, but the ball doesn't carry on quite as lively a conversation as you do."

"Of course, what was I thinking? So you've gone from throwing your inane babble at me to befriending inanimate objects. I _do_ so worry about you, you know..."

The grin on his lips hid the twisted brain of the secretly demented kid inside the pretty shell. "I've named him Wilson, like the great Mr. Hanks did in that film. But I call him Jim for short. I'm thinking of proposing to him next class." He raised his eyebrows at me, taunting me with a lilting, "You jealous? Or can we have your blessing?"

I narrowed my eyes viciously at him in response. "...Do you _want_ me to have the cops come drag you off my property, you vagrant?"

He waved casually at me, folding his arms over his chest and glancing over his shoulder at my front yard briefly. "If you must. Give the chief my regards, tell him I asked after his kids and wife..."

I drew in a deep breath and prepared myself – I'd had enough. Time to skip the (un)pleasantries and get serious. "So really... What's bugging you that you hiked all the way out here from the campus?"

He caught my eye again and said simply, "Like I said, I was out for a walk and decided to drop in. It's not _that_ far, only a mile or two..."

I glared hard at him, shutting him up instantly, but added in a tone very close to my instructor mode, "Si... Cut the shit. What do you want?"

"I don't want an--"

"Then why are you here? Why did you come to see _me?_"

Maybe being so blunt was finally wearing him down, or perhaps he'd just gotten tired of putting on the performance. Whatever caused it, I finally saw him break – the smile faded and the arms fell to his sides, eyes darting around but not taking in anything as he reluctantly took a few steps forward and sat next to me on the swing, being sure to keep his attention straight ahead to avoid my knowing gaze.

After some time, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in an upturned palm. When he spoke, his words came out in an uncharacteristic mumble: "So, y'know, I call me mum at the same time every night, see."

I scoffed again. "Mama's boy."

"Aye, an' proud of it!" he chuckled, but the slight humor died down again quickly before he continued. "Well... She didn't answer last night, so, y'know, I started to wonder... Well, I tried me dad at the alley..."

I squinted. "The what?"

He turned his face to me, startled that I was at a loss. "The alley," he repeated, sounding surprised that he had to do so. "The bowlin' alley, y'know? C'mon, man, you _do_ know--"

I flinched and smacked my forehead, actually feeling genuinely _stupid_ for letting it slip my mind. "Right, right, right – forgot he still owned that. Great deals he gave me," I confided, nudging his arm slightly.

"Aye, y'should visit him for a game sometime," Simon nodded, probably relieved to be getting onto a subject which was markedly _away_ from the _real_ one... "He'd love that. Always said you tried to cheat 'im outta turns 'cause you'd pull the `handicap' bit--"

"That's the way of the fair world, Simon, and your father was a kind enough man to try working towards that kind of world..."

"So go have a game with 'im again, eh? You could turn it into a weekend--"

I shuddered visibly, cutting him off. "That would require me getting a train into Scotland – having to risk being out in public, around _people_..."

"Oh, right, don't want to put the rails outta business, do we?"

I shook myself internally and tried to recall what it was that I was trying to get from the kid in the first place. "Anyway, so your mother's trying to pretend you don't exist and you tried Daddy instead?"

He immediately looked away again, clearly not happy about staying on topic. "Yeah. Anyway. So, ehm... I called up the alley, but... but the assistant manager said he wasn't in. So I got a bit, y'know..."

When he trailed off, staring up at the sky blankly, waiting for the right word to occur to him, I tried to assist: "Paranoid? Were you smoking at the time?"

Half-closed eyelids fluttered as he turned a wry glance on me. "..._Concerned_. I let it go, just for the night..."

"But obviously..."

He sighed heavily, dropping his hand from his face to hunch over his lap some more. "Well, obviously, I tried again tonight at the same time..."

"And had she finally decided to disown you? My kid called _me_ that much, _I_ would."

"Ah, no. She hadn't. But she wasn't there again. Dad answered instead, which is unusual 'cause he's always at the alley 'round that time a' night..."

Again he faded out slowly, and while I wanted to just push a button on the back of his head to make him spit out what was bothering him, I also knew that with some things, certain people _need_ a moment or two to collect themselves.

I usually rolled my eyes and pushed anyway; but that day, with Simon, for some reason I couldn't let myself be that harsh. Instead, I urged in my usual deadpan tone: "So? What'd he say?"

"Well... Said she wasn't feelin' well lately, an' yesterday afternoon she was pretty... pretty bad. So he took her to A&E straight away. They had a night of it in there, apparently, and finally ended up havin' her admitted..."

There was no tremor to his voice or panic in his eyes – the eyes he wouldn't let me see, mind – but I caught on quite quickly to the fact that he probably didn't like saying that last part.

"...I see."

"Yeah," he sighed, "so, you see, I'm a bit..."

"Paranoid?" I quipped again.

He smirked, but there was no humor to it this time. "_Worried_. I was rather, ehm... upset. With me dad, I mean. He said he would've called, but..."

"But, let me guess," I cut in, sure I knew the direction this would take if I let him go too far by himself. Plus, besides the paradoxical metaphysical door here, it was rather bemusing to point it out: "He didn't want to tell you outright because he thought you would get – I dunno – _worried?_"

The eye-roll and slight smirk told me the irony was not lost on him. "...Somethin' like 'at."

I leaned back, then, letting out a massive sigh and scratching at my head. It was time, much as I hated to admit it, to be straight for a change. Obviously the kid had come all this way to obtain some kind of assurance no one else could give him – not even his own father. So I figured I'd better start doing my job.

Not wondering, though I did later, why the hell I felt the urge to bother, when normally I couldn't give a shit either way. But sometimes, certain people... you just don't want to turn away from...

"Look, Si, from a professional point of view, all joking aside, with your mother's history, they're probably just being cautious. They'll run a ton of annoying tests, keep her a few days at the most, probably not even that long, then let her go with some heavy duty cold medicine or something."

His hands folded together in a ball, he pressed his mouth against his fingers and turned to me slightly – and fuck, the kid looked like he was thirteen again, casting that bloody hopeful glance toward me that, even four, five years ago, had made me flinch with something akin to... (fuck...) _sympathy_.

"...Y'think so?" he asked softly, not nearly as eager to believe me, it seemed, as he'd been back in Scotland.

I shrugged it off, looking away sharply. "I don't see why not."

Apparently, the kid had gone and grown a brain since thirteen. And actually started _thinking_ and _questioning_ things. Goddamnit.

"...Well... 'Cause if it's, like... b-back again or somethin'... and they don't want me to worry, like... D'you think they'd actually do that? Lie to me, or keep it hidden, so I don't fuck up on me midterms or whatever? D'you think they'd really keep somethin' like that from me for the sake of me bloody _schoolwork_? They know I'm not stupid..."

I had to cut him off again, this time with a hand on his shoulder and a slight jerk to get his attention. When we exchanged glances again, he seemed startled that I was there, as if he'd forgotten that he was rambling to another person at all.

And damn him for putting me on the spot like that – he knew I hated giving positive assurance, especially to a seventeen-year-old freak like him.

Reluctantly, I gave him a dour look and told him, "Of course you're not stupid, Simon. Look... I know your folks are great people. Your mother especially is a strong woman. I know she's so proud of you, of your success here and for your interests and talents all coming out now – I'm sure she wouldn't want to distract you from them with any small ailment she might have along the way... But at the same time, you have to trust your folks to know what's best for you. They've done a pretty decent job raising you so far – apart from the compulsive lying and drug dealing..."

He blinked in genuine surprise. "Wow – that was something close to a compliment, coming from you."

"Don't hold your breath for another one," I snapped bitterly, then barreled on, hoping he'd forget that part if I just kept talking. "But really, Si, just... give it some time. Let them take care of business from their end, and don't worry so much about things that are out of your control. Relax and enjoy your youth, while you still have it. Someone with your gifts shouldn't have to be worrying so much about disease and death anyway, especially at your age—"

Fucking hell. Why did I have to keep going that far? I'd been too distracted by wanting to ease his mind that I'd forgotten who exactly I was talking to.

Before I could go back and correct _myself_, he smiled widely – a bizarre, inappropriate smile that – even he knew, I was sure – didn't belong there at the moment.

"Well, I've had a pretty bloody legitimate reason for bein' worried about it, haven't I? Can't _not_ think about it when it's right there in your home day and night, can ya? Seein' 'er all balled up in 'er bed like that... chuckin' up every half hour, even when she didn't have nothin' to chuck up..."

It was funny, it struck me then: calling him a liar and druggie to his face, I'd only gotten that playful smirk in response. Yet he got so easily flustered when breaching this subject. He barely blinked when someone had a bad word to say about _him_. But bring his mother into it, and suddenly the cool cat bristled like he'd been threatened with a spray bottle of acid.

So when he trailed off this time, bowing his head slightly, I actually felt, well... _bad_.

Sneaky little fucker.

I shifted toward him slightly, daring to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I know," I rumbled in a low tone. "I'm sorry for seeming like I was brushing it off..." I swallowed hard, regaining my stoicism when I recalled the point of my argument. "But I'll bet anything that's what your parents are thinking when they have a little scare like that. And I'm sure that's all it is too – just a little scare. If it was more serious..."

"They'd tell me? As long as she's dying, it's all right?"

The way he suggested it, with that dry twist which negated the actual words, made me realize how silly it had been to say it.

I sighed again, testing a different angle this time. "They just want the best for you, Si. They don't want to scare you unnecessarily--"

But he wasn't having it – and quite frankly, I was pretty happy he cut me off with his oncoming tirade, because I was making myself sick trying to be rational with him.

"And the best thing, the _necessary_ thing, for me is to not know when me own mum might need me?" he spat out, not overly emotional, but clearly not accepting of it either. I could tell he was upset – I wondered briefly if he even noticed, as I did just then, that he was trembling ever so slightly. It didn't reach his voice, but I was trained to pick up on these tiny things, and I couldn't have missed it. Otherwise, however, he simply sounded tired.

"Nevermind if I can't do anything else but sit there and hold her hand, like before," he went on bitterly, "but that's just the point: even if that's _all_ I could do, there was nowhere else I _could've_ been – it was unfathomable to me. I wouldn't let meself think of it. As awful as it was to see her suffer like 'at, when she was too sick from the chemo to get outta bed, I would do it all over again. I'd rather do that, be there to see it with me own eyes, than imagine the horrors my mind can come up with by itself." He let out a scoff of disbelief, and as he went on, he actually _did_ start to sound more pissed than he'd initially let on. "You'd think they'd figure that out about me by now. You say they want what's best for me, but for fuck's sake, I need to know when me mum fuckin' _needs_ me, eh? D'you really believe that fuckin' bollocks, that bein' ignorant is what's _best_ for me? Would _you_ buy that load a' shite?" he demanded of me, twisting his head around to appeal to me with wide, shining eyes and a growl to his voice. "And don't you fuckin' lie to me, House, 'cause I won't have it!"

I held up my hands in defense, but then chose to place them on the boy's shoulders, squeezing slightly. "Okay, I know. You're angry. I get it."

"Fuckin' right, I'm fuckin' angry," he snapped, suddenly out of breath, as if keeping this bottled up had actually been physically taxing – and, obviously, being a doctor, I knew how true that could be. "Bloody hell..."

"Breathe, Si," I instructed him, squeezing his shoulders again to urge him on. "Just remember to breathe, okay?"

He gulped down some air and steadied himself, probably just realizing how tense he'd been all this time. He consciously made himself sit back, relaxing beside me as I gave him my take on it.

"Look... I understand, okay? I know you're rattled by this, and you're right, you _do_ have every reason to be... And if it were my own mother, I'd probably react the same way...

"But you have to remember their position, Simon. At this stage in your life, and with you being so far away from home, they have to pick their battles, so to speak. Maybe to them, withholding small bits of information to keep from sending you into a panic and racing back without a thought – maybe to them, that's what's best for you. Especially if it's just a silly little case of the sniffles."

He jerked his head around to catch my gaze, a somber look on his face. "And if it wasn't?"

I shook my head. "Even if it wasn't, even if it was bigger than that, they _do_ know you, and they know you'd give it all up to be by her side. But I _know_ your mother; it would be rough on her – shit, it would be _hell_ on her, thinking she was the reason you left such a promising future behind for her. It'd break her heart, Simon. You know she only ever thinks of you first. She's the kind of woman who would put her own life on hold for you, for your happiness. She'd sacrifice everything to make sure you were okay. Even her own health, if it came to that. But she'd never want to upset you on purpose. You're her whole world, Si. You know you are."

His shoulders raised slightly as he took this in with a deep breath. I was expecting – hoping desperately for – some kind of acknowledgment that perhaps I'd gotten through to him, that all this work to convince him had not been in vain.

He offered a small, sad smile, staring blankly past me. "Kind of a hassle when it goes both ways like that, init? Trouble is, she already knows I'd drop it all just to sit with her for a bit... That's probably why she won't come out 'n tell me when something's wrong now. She doesn't see that tryin' to protect me like that – well, it's just a bloody backfire."

Well... I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but perhaps I _had_ gotten something across. Maybe I _had_ given him some kind of comfort or assurance.

Even though, in a typical situation, I didn't care _how_ I came across... but this time, it actually mattered.

I tried to push it one step further, giving him a reaffirming pat on the shoulder. "It's pointless to be discussing this anyway, really, because I don't think she's in any actual danger health-wise."

He looked directly at me this time, the wry smirk twisting his lips and his eyebrows raised.

"I really don't," I insisted with a nod. "She'll be fine, Simon. Just trust me."

He stared at me for a long time, and after a while, I finally broke down and returned his gaze.

And to my surprise, _he_ gave _me_ the consolation smile. He stood from the swing, patted my arm with an air of dispassionate solace. "I don't, y'know. Trust you, I mean. Don't take it personally, I have a rough time buyin' that shit no matter who says it. But thanks for tryin'. I do appreciate that."

And he turned and left me sitting there alone on the porch swing, an oddly discomforting sensation in my stomach as I watched him retreating from the very home I'd earlier wished he'd never found. With not just a touch of surprise, I found myself... stung by his words, no matter how nicely he'd said them, and no matter how much he'd meant them. So he was glad for my attempt – but he still wasn't going to trust me? For once, I found myself wishing... well... that he _would_.

_Insert any couple of male students here you wish_

What a bloody night it was.

There were no real reasons for our mindlessness that weekend, save for lack of the usual amount of supervision. No relieving breaks on the horizon, no stress-release after a week of hard testing, no emotional seeing-off of a good mate heading home. We just had a bit too much booze and spliff, and half our bloody floor was on the verge of self-approved check-ins to rehab clinics.

It had to have been the mere fact that several members of the faculty were out that weekend, including the dean, for whatever reasons they saw fit to leave the majority of us to our own devices.

But whatever the reason, I was one of the few left in our particular corridor with enough sense still intact to know when to call it a night. (Or, early morning.) Not in a heavy-handed, ruin-the-atmosphere manner, but a simple smiling, pat-on-the-back, "Time for bed, mate," kind of vibe.

We'd all congregated in the common room in the dead center of the dorms in order to carry out this binge fest of smuggled bottles and paraphernalia, while plowing through hours of such brainless, entertaining treats as _This Is Spinal Tap, The Rocky Horror Picture Show_, _Queen: Live From Wembley Stadium_, and Rush concerts. And by the end of it, we'd all finally managed to break Liam's blood-alcohol level record (combined, mind you, but that was still an accomplishment in our eyes).

Some had sauntered off earlier; others still remained and incoherently insisted that they were up for another hour or two of Rage indulgence. But from the way you had become a drooling, grinning, senseless mess, as you'd flat-out started cuddling my leg from your spot on the floor while I sat splayed too comfortably in a lounge chair above you, I knew through my own drunken haze that you were done for.

Always more concerned for my mates' well-beings than they usually were themselves, I decided to save you some dignity and fetch you off to bed before you tried something foolishly lethal, like wrestling the half-empty bottle of tequila from the sanctity of Ewan's lap. A few others groaned at the loss of our presences, but mostly they let us go with playful teasing that _some_ people couldn't hold their liquor (as if they had the right to boast – they barely got the slushy words out of their mouths before I could maneuver you out of the bloody room).

But you hardly protested at all, perhaps hinting in the direction that you were grateful for my keen sense of responsibility. Though I was still giggling like a wasted, mad fool myself as we stumbled our way back to my room – merely because it was closer than yours. It was the blind leading the barely-blinder, but we managed to make it inside without enough trouble to render either of us unconscious on the corridor floor for everyone else to trip (or puke) over later in the... morning.

Our eyes were still too maladjusted to brightness, sitting in that dim, smokey room for so long, to handle the over head bulb, as I quickly discovered when I tried to turn it on – not only did my own head nearly explode, but you let out a mortified wail and threw yourself on the switch, shrouding us in darkness yet again with a surly hiss of, "Stupid git, whatchoo thinkin', blindin' us like 'at!?"

I just giggled deliriously and apologised, more amused by the fact that, here, you were chiding _me_, but _I_ was still the one keeping _you_ upright.

We fumbled our way through the dark room, and, after nudging you in the direction of my bed, I thoughtfully bent the flexible neck of my desklamp before switching it on; with the dimmer, obscured light, I could better make out shapes and obstacles, but wasn't assaulting our convoluted senses either.

A good thing it was that I thought to do this, actually, because as I turned back to you, you were halfway to crawling into my roommate's bed, mumbling something like a thanks to me. I chuckled and stepped back to you, redirecting you again. But somewhere in the drunken shuffling and your confusion, in the dim lighting and your ignorance of our room set-up, you tripped us both up enough to send us falling only halfway onto my bed, sliding with ridiculous disgrace to the floor in a heap of startled yelps and hysterical laughter. A few curses and failed attempts to stand later, you were safely on the bed and kicking your sneakers off as I jerkily squirmed my way out of my shirt with one hand clutching the headboard above you to keep _me_ upright.

"Fuckin' 'ell, mate, open a fuckin' window or somethin', Jesus," you huffed, struggling to find a comfortable position in heavy trousers and a cotton tee.

"Bloody hell, right?" I concurred, tossing my shirt aside without thought or care as I groped my way to the window and fought with it to let some cool air in. I gasped sharply, though, when I finally succeeded, as I'd forgotten what month it was – no matter how hot it had gotten inside, it was still close to dead winter by then. The blast of cold air on my bare chest was welcome, but a bit startling as well. I found an acceptable position to keep it open at and then swiveled back to face the bed, smirking when I saw you'd finally found a reasonable place for your limbs.

"Fuckin' janitors need to give up their boycott and just grease the damn runners while we're in class," I grumbled, crawling onto the foot of the bed.. "I know we're frightening, more than the usual lot of teenage dickheads, but still, isn't it against the law to leave a heater on full-blast to suffocate children in their sleep?"

At my usual, thoughtless babbling (which I tended to do even more of when intoxicated), you merely sat there and watched me while I fumbled my way further up the bed, trying desperately not to laugh, it seemed, while _I_ tried desperately not to tumble off the side.

"Oi," you mumbled as I got comfortable next to you. "Don't be such a bloody host," you snickered, nudging me sharply when I tried to turn onto my back without bumping you.

"Eh? Fuckin' hell, now'm cold--"

But when I sat up to reach for my shirt again, completely forgetting where I'd thrown it, you whined playfully and threw your arms around my torso.

"Nooo! Don't leave me--"

"Christ, man, I ain't leavin', just can't find me fuckin'--"

"Leave it," you insisted, yanking me back to flop lazily against your chest. "I kinda like ya better this way--"

"Perv--"

"No, really, I don't care--"

"Aye, but _I_ do – fuckin' cold 'n all--"

"Naw, man, 'ere," you urged, and somehow managed to maneuver yourself beside _and_ above me, looking down at the side of my face with that wide, stupid grin and drunken, hazy eyes. "I'll warm y'up..."

I snorted at that, but stopped struggling so much, letting you get your arms under and around my torso to press your head on my chest. Whatever, eh? Not like we never hugged before. Hell, we'd done a bit more than that, even...

You settled in nicely against me, letting out a massively weary groan as you relaxed. Somehow, knowing you were comfortable let _me_ feel relaxed too, and I chuckled lightly at the – admittedly warm – embrace. I closed my eyes and sighed, the room feeling like it was going sixty-five around me in donuts... but the dizziness slowly ebbed, and I smiled a bit at the sensation of your breath across my chest.

"Fuckin' 'ell," you said again, your voice a low rumble. "This is nice, yeah?"

"Aye, sure," I replied carelessly, not really listening. I only reveled in the softness of my pillow and the warmth of your clothes against me.

After a pause, you pressed curiously, "No, really, mate – thanks for this..."

I shrugged it off nonchalantly. "'Course, eh, no bother..."

Another pause, and then a tinge of actual awareness to your voice reverberated in my ears.

"I mean it, mate... Y'just... Y'aren't like th'rest of 'em, eh? So... thanks..."

I chuckled, tousling your hair blindly. "Flattery'll get you everywhere, son--"

But you cut me off with a tight squeeze. "Naw, really – don'tcha notice it too? I mean, 'round here... There's friendliness 'n all, but there ain't no, like, real affection, eh? An'... hate to say it, but, like... sometimes ya need some a' that, eh?"

Keeping my eyes closed, I smiled widely. "We aren't _that_ far from town, mate – sure a nice whore would do the same for a cheaper price..."

You ignored my bad humour and drew in a deep breath before letting it out in a slight moan. "Y'just... You feel like home, eh... Smell like it, too, reek of it, really... Just feels like home bein' like this with ya. Y'know?"

I subverted more oncoming quips – most of which were likely caused by the alcohol – and just hummed softly, patting your head. A silent assurance that, yes, I understood, and it was no skin off my back to accommodate your need for company.

Actually, maybe I appreciated the contact more than I let on – but my head was too full of good vibes and invisible cotton to really concentrate on any one thought at the time to verbalise. Just felt better, felt _right_, to lay there and – well, _cuddle_ for a bit with an old friend.

Home. Indeed.

"You all right, man?"

"Mmhmm..." I fell into such a comfortable state of security, then, that I was forced to open my eyes when I felt you shifting around. And when I did, I saw your face above me, looking back down with as much of a solemn expression as you could probably muster at the time.

"Are you?"

I blinked. "Hm? 'M I what?"

"All right?"

I stared up at you, my eyes barely slits, and smirked. "I said--"

"I know... I know y'said so... But I... just makin' sure..."

I shook my head slightly, grin still caught on my lips. "Wassis, eh? I'm fine, man--"

"No, I know," you replied in a rush, glancing around aimlessly for a while before your focus landed finally on somewhere just under my chin. "I know you say you are... I just... I just worry, thassal. Worry 'bout you... that you're okay 'n all... Seein' as how I know how you are--"

My eyebrows raised in slight interest, I finally managed a chuckle. "I told ya, mate, I'm _fine_."

You caught my gaze with your own, and the stoic awareness despite your inebriation made me pause, take in your words and tone seriously. And I realised you _were_ serious.

You carefully reached up with one hand to brush some stray locks out of the way of my gaze, and whispered, "I just want you to be okay... 'Cause I... I care about you..."

I blinked again, lazily, eyelids fluttering briefly when the simple action caused a brief, strangely pleasant sense of vertigo. I smiled genuinely at you, hoping it would be reassuring. "I have my moments... but overall, I'm good."

"Good," you breathed, not looking away for a second. In fact, the more you stared, the quieter we both became, and the less likely it seemed that you ever _would_ break the gaze. "I love... lookin' at you... but it's hard to when you're... when you're hurting, or upset... Like this, though – when you're like this, I just... can't stop lookin'..."

You trailed off vaguely, leaving me wondering where that thought was leading you.

But as my smile started to gradually fade, you answered my unspoken question by puffing out randomly, "God, you got the most amazin' eyes, y'know that?"

The grin had evaporated from my face, but my attention remaining on you was not a stern or morbid glare. I felt... light... dazed... like you were swimming around inside my delirious head with such an intensity and caution about you that we were both rendered helplessly silent.

I felt my throat muscles working without effort, swallowing once before drawing in the same breath you expelled simultaneously. I didn't feel real for a long, painfully sustained moment, as if I'd dove in with you and we were floating there in that instant, suspended in time and space, just existing in each other's awareness.

"I could lose meself in 'em..." you murmured, voice reaching me as if under water. "In _you_... Kinda wouldn't mind doin' it too..."

That awareness shifted like a silent film in slow motion, and I couldn't look away as you relaxed further into me, letting your lips brush over mine in a sweetly dreamlike flutter, too soft to be a whisper, "Sometimes you're just too beautiful..."

The warmth of your closeness, the gentle fingers lingering on my cheek, entranced me into such an easy, complacent state that I couldn't bear to suggest stopping you as you deepened your kiss. I could feel your breath over my skin, slipping inside me, and I took you in, in a thoughtless, automatic embrace. Couldn't tell anymore where I stopped and you began, could only read the hidden movements of your body with my own. And I let that pilot take control in me – knowing, but not acknowledging, how lovely it was to release the common lock I generally commanded of myself in my day-to-day life. So that I could relish being free from any self-implemented guards that would normally keep me from allowing this pleasure to overwhelm me.

Sometimes... the yielding of that strength is a freedom beyond words. You had me, you simply _had_ me, right there in your arms and at your disposal – and I was relieved to give up to you.

But your own words rang true, even in an instance where I allowed myself this vulnerability. Without the need for words, I knew I was leaving myself in your hands, and had no misgivings to do so. And your actions played out just as you claimed – the slow, measured way you eased over me, one hand caressing my cheek and the other at my waist, slipping under the small of my back to hold me against you. My eyes fluttered closed as you tasted me, a warm, slow kiss to lull me into that state of compliance, helpless but welcome acceptance. And while I curiously studied the contours of your mouth, my hands finding their way to what bare flesh I could feel of your arms under your sleeves, the thought wound its way around my mind that you were experiencing something similar – your slight moan into me must have been a sign of approval for my own lingering choice of red wine; or else you simply liked to kiss me, which would have suited me too.

So absorbed in your sensual kiss, this passionate but somehow still subtle claiming of... _me_, I hardly registered your other hand carefully undoing my trousers. But when your fingers slid under the material on my hip to ease them down, I felt my body lifting to your urges, allowing you to undress me further without a thought of protest. And when you pulled back slightly, breaking the hypnotising kiss to lower your head, the idea in my brain was inexplicably thrilling to me – I kept my own closed, but being so exposed and vulnerable beneath you, I could feel your eyes on me, raking over me, taking in my utterly naked form with a quiet inhalation and a smothered groan.

I felt you shift a few times, fingertips glancing over my shoulder and collar bone, but when I finally opened my eyes to dreamy slits again, you were still right above me, an expression on your face I'd never seen before – something like pain, but without the hurt.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip when I felt bare flesh against my own as you relaxed on top of me again – your shirt still on, hiked up over your ribcage, but nothing else. I felt smooth skin gliding over mine as I looked up into your darkened eyes, a very serious face peering back at me as the warmth of your arousal settled against my own and I gasped slightly.

At the blatantly direct physical contact, and my own obvious positive reaction to it, you smiled faintly and nuzzled closer into my neck, your breath hot on my throat as you deliberately swiveled your naked hips against mind, grinding into me so longingly that your actions left me breathless, eyes rolling back to flutter shut again as I lifted myself up to meet your demands. I could feel you throbbing, your breath quickening, as you repeated it, gradually growing more urgent with every thrust. The friction of us rubbing against each other so lewdly, yet so earnestly at the same time, caused my stomach to tighten, my belly clenched and pressed up to yours in such a blunt signal of need that you ended up mindlessly moaning my name into my shoulder. The sweet sound of your own secret torture was so simply alluring to my ears that I couldn't stop the pleasant shudder that overtook my body. One hand at my hip, the other clutched tightly to my back, you murmured encouraging words to me, things that would have embarrassed you in the light of day to even _think_, whispering to me with such need that your breath trembled along with my body – as if your nearly inaudible voice itself was sending these vibrations of anticipation throughout me.

I didn't even realise I'd become so easily manipulated, but my spread legs – which I couldn't recall opening for you – basically alerted me to the fact that I was fundamentally under your spell, completely at a loss to even consider refusing you anything you wanted from me. So it was no real surprise at all, then, to feel your mysteriously dampened fingers sliding between my legs, over my hard cock and lower. My breathing grew more laboured, my gasps shakier, as you lifted your head to kiss me again, much less measured but more powerfully than before. My grip on your arms tightened then, as I felt one fingertip tracing languidly over my hole, teasing me, it seemed, as every time it brushed so directly, a high, broken sound of anticipation snuck out from my throat. As I lifted my hips and rubbed fiercely back against your continuing thrusts, the foggy realisation that you were, quite bluntly, _humping_ me so needily filled my brain and made my moans catch an octave higher than I intended. The involuntary, high-pitched sobs you pulled from me with every aching, superficial crash into me – my belly, my abdomen, my hips and pelvis, my own pulsing cock just _weeping_ for attention – seemed to spur you on even more, your quickening breath very telling of how aroused my wordless pleas made you.

And then one of your pressing, exploratory fingers finally appeased my quivering muscles and plunged inside me, fervent but careful, and a particularly – well – _girlish_ exclamation burst from my mouth as my back arched stiffly at the intrusion. The tight ring of muscle around your digit ached, even from that slim an object.

But _oh_, was it sweet, so utterly forbidden – yet never verbally stated – that my cock lurched with excitement. This reaction was not so subtle against your own member, and you hunched your shoulders faintly to lean over my ear, mumbling breathless, horny nonsense to me as you eagerly finger-fucked my ass. Words of such a crude, yearning nature, telling me what you planned to do to me, that hissing, threatening tone to your voice only making me gulp fiercely before letting out a yelp that could surely have been heard from the common room.

Beyond caring, I was; I quieted my voice at your urges – more smothering, sloppy kisses to muffle my unbridled vocal responses – but my physical body itself refused to keep quiet, shifting and moving as if of its own accord to show you how much I needed you to take me...

This lack of control over my own voice, let alone my limbs, must have gotten to you unfairly fast, because you only spent a few more torturous moments being a "gentleman" before you gave up completely and withdrew your hand.

My heaving breaths shaky, I tried to mentally prepare myself – but you weren't about to keep yourself waiting. The shift of position was so swift, so minute, that I was still trying to catch my first proceeding breath when you spread me open wide and guided your rock-hard, weeping erection inside of me with one fierce, powerful thrust – unrelenting, almost merciless, you penetrated me so deeply, so intensely, that the pain blinded all my other senses and I groped desperately at the mattress, back arching again sharply, head thrown back, as a shriek ripped its way out of my throat.

"Aw, holy _fuck_," you blurted mindlessly, and without pause, gave into your apparently demanding lust and started riding me furiously, kneeling between my open thighs and gripping my bucking hips tightly as you pounded into me roughly.

Though the wheezing sobs continued and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, the searing, splitting ache that caused them...

(Fuck, am I screwed up or what?)

...made my cock throb _painfully_ with arousal. _Oh_, fucking hell, it was harsh – intense and harsh and hurt like a motherfucker – but as I held onto the mattress with one hand, my other groped for my erection, almost in a panic. I heard your helpless groans, completely lost in the moment – lost in _me_, as you'd said, which enthralled me even more – your guttural grunts, and I caught glimpses of your pinched, awed expression as you fucked me. My own hand became a cruel master on my cock, wanking harder than I could remember ever doing to myself as you "violated" me with such intoxicating ferocity...

I found my pained yells morphing gradually into throaty, sultry moans of your name, begging you to keep going, oh yes, it was so fucking _good_, so bloody perfect to feel your body inside me, wanting me, needing me, holding me and controlling me at the same time. I gritted my teeth and let you go crazy on me, heaving in and out of me with those groans that spoke volumes to me without having to form coherent words – and even when they did, they were so lewd, so desperately filthy, and I laid back and took them in greedily with a racing heart, helplessly submissive whimpers, and sensual moans.

You finally gained enough control of yourself to direct your attention on me, and as I shamelessly, wantonly opened myself up to take everything you wanted to give me, I could feel your eyes on me – drinking me in with a lascivious, lust-driven need. The feeling of you watching me, the thought of your gaze being solely taken up by me (and catching a glimpse of your immensely pleased face at this turn of events), was such a turn-on. So as your fierce, manic thrusts turned longer, slower, thicker, more intense inside my body, I reveled in being watched. I leaned my head back to expose my throat as I continued stroking my cock with one hand, and let the free one roam over my own sensitised skin as your eyes took in the sight.

You groaned your encouragement to me, hooking one arm under my waist and leaning low over me as you watched – while still fucking me. "Touch yourself, just like that – feel how hot you are, how beautiful your body is – so soft and warm and tight – just like your sweet little ass..."

A throaty moan escaped me as you let your other hand join my own in exploring, and I obeyed when you directed me to touch certain places, pinching my nipples, running fingertips over my throat and collar bone, _feeling_ myself as I continued masturbating as well – but then, as your thrusts began becoming fast and commanding again, your wandering hand came to rest over mine on my cock. And with a grip that was bordering on too much, you pumped me, hard and slow, as if savoring the sensation of my heated flesh in your grasp. I felt so close, so overwhelmed, and all I could get out of my mouth was a series of stilted, breathy cries as you sank inside me fully...

So I was startled when _you_ suddenly collapsed on top of me, muffling your own cry of ecstasy as I felt you release inside of me, jerking violently on top of me as you came. The thought alone should have sent me over the edge – but then you did something I didn't expect at all: you let go of my cock, pulling my hand away from myself, and held my arms down beside my head by the wrists, keeping me flat on my back as you rode your orgasm as long as you could. Eyes wide and refusing to see anything else, I kept my attention on your face, watched you as you shifted from one emotion to the next – the desperation, the relief, the shock of something inexplicable washing through your body as you let go and enjoyed the feeling...

And when your eyes opened and cleared again, peering down at me with a vague trace of a smile on your lips, I saw your sweat-dampened shirt moving minutely in time with your heavy breaths. And I just ached for you to read my mind and touch me again – but I couldn't find the words, my mouth hanging open but no sentence, nothing even more than a faint gasp, coming out.

Your smile widened briefly, and the feeling of you pulling out of me with such caution and care was enough to make me cringe – but in the moment when I closed my eyes from the pain, you sank down lower out of my vision. When I opened my eyes again to find you gone, I blinked, startled, about to start asking questions – but you were too fast for me.

The hot, moist sensation enveloping me should have been enough on its own, but somehow I held on for a few moments more as your seemingly famished mouth closed over my cock and you started sucking. Once more I was thrown into a bottomless euphoria, head bent back and hands in your hair, clenching my fists as you moaned around me and cradled my hips in your arms. Your tongue drew lines of intangible fire on and around me, the pressure of your lips and slight scrape of teeth on my flesh gave me shivers, and before I could catch a substantial breath of air to say your name with – only broken, sputtered fragments – I was sobbing a fierce, almost tortured litany of orgasmic rambling. My head light and dizzy, my body wrestling over the pleasure to get to lethargy, I could barely lift my head as I finished off in your mouth, in your arms.

And as you released me finally to crawl over me once again – I didn't know if you'd swallowed or not, but I didn't even care – I breathlessly reached up and grabbed you by the back of your head, using that leverage to lift myself to you in a passionate, mindless kiss. You tried for a moment to slither into a different position, but I wouldn't let you go, so you let out a breathy chuckle and gave in, falling into me willingly as I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and pulled you down. Legs wrapped around your waist, arms where they were already, I clung to you wantonly as I immersed myself in your hold, glad for your earlier insistence that I _wasn't_ like everyone else – that I needed you, just as you'd needed me.

And when you pulled back to look down into my eyes again, the dreamlike, drunken grin on your face – more drunk now, it seemed, than before this; perhaps more drunk on _me_ than on the booze – confirmed for me that this ran deeper than a mere "desperately horny" occurrence. Handjobs are handjobs, blowjobs are blowjobs, and a quick fuck's a quick fuck.

But this had been different – this had been... _it_. Of course if you'd just been desperate, there were plenty of other blokes out in that common room who probably would have understood and given in to your request.

But you hadn't wanted anyone else. Not for this. Not for something this... needy, yet this caring. The yearning for someone else specific, blinding us both to anything but each other...

I bit my lip as your smile enchanted me, and you shook your head in wonder.

"Could lose meself in 'em, mate, I swear..."


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Lessons – Seven – How To Win An Argument

Rating/Warnings: R for slight slashiness (not graphic) and hints, language. I guess this qualifies as "AU," eh? Comedy, angst and some fluff thrown in for good measure. Please forgive my self-indulgence in the other characters as well... I like havin' lotsa personalities to play with...

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: I know nothing, I know no one, hence my making it up as I go along... I simply can't stop writing to save my warped, perverted soul.

Matthew:

I stood in the center of my room, which was scattered sparsely with a few other members of the battle-game squad I'd become a part of, openly gaping in disbelief at our unappointed but assumed leader – as one tends to do when one's roommate, who tends to live primarily in his own imaginary world (only allowing one toe to saunter into what I'd always known as "reality"), excitedly drags one into a room, only to eagerly impress upon one (and their fellow peers) just how far he'd gone into this ridiculous realm he calls his "imagination."

It had been startling to see Simon so giddy suddenly, after moping for a few days straight as his mother seemed to have been covering up her ailing health more and more over the phone every night; but in a way, I'd been a bit hopeful by this strange turn of events, when he came waltzing into the common room, going from one particular person to the next who happened to be lazing about (like Dom and myself), whispering mysteriously with a triumphant grin on his face to each of us in turn.

"Come wi' me, I got a brilliant idea," he'd told me – and presumably a quarter of the room, as Dom and I followed Tom, Orlando and Ben from the random couches and lounge chairs, leaving the rest behind with curious glances thrown our way.

Once we'd all gathered in the room he and I shared, Simon could barely contain his excitement as he asked what, in all our imaginations, we craved most in life.

Well, with such a broad question, naturally, we'd all been a bit unsure of where he was coming from, so in the proceeding silence, I dared to utter something about a foot-long banana – which was immediately mocked by Orlando's burst of laughter, "And we all know whose banana tree _you'd_ be barking up!"

Even Dom seemed amused by the sick joke, despite my own flabbergasted gape of red-faced embarrassment by this outright acknowledgment of something I'd just assumed to have been – well – _secret_.

But Simon unknowingly rescued me from that humiliation by interrupting the laughter with a rather terse, "Oh, where's your sense of _fun_, boys!? It's hardly anything to do with fruit – of _any_ kind – in fact, it's better!" he insisted passionately, coming right up to my face with enormous eyes and a smug smile which erased any insult to my sexual preference from my ego.

"I dunno," I tried again, "a guaranteed A in Physics?"

"Bigger than even that!" he exclaimed, grabbing my arms and – if possible – his grin expanding to lunatic size.

So this piqued my interest. As well as everyone else's. And so he told us. Which made my jaw insert itself squarely into my chest.

But the reason I came to land in my awkward, unbelieving stance was not only the fact that no one else seemed bothered enough by his revelation to protest it – in fact, they looked like they were _considering_ it; the reason _I_ was so concerned, actually, was because of his revelation itself.

...And the fact that, of all of us, _I_ was about to be playing the role of "voice of reason."

My debut.

"You want to build a _what!?_"

The maniacal grin hadn't left his face. "A ca--"

"I heard what you said," I interrupted quickly, throwing his hands from my arms.

He slunk down onto his bed, and a beat later, I repeated, "You want to build a _what!?_"

"I _said_," he reiterated, growing testy, "a cat--"

"I _know!_" I exclaimed, my voice nearly cracking a window. "I know what you said, I just don't think _you_ know what you said. So I ask again – you want to build a _what!?_"

He'd resigned himself to lounging on his mattress and speaking casually, perhaps even on the verge of exasperation. "I want to build a catap--"

"_NNNNO!_ **NO!** Do you _hear_ the words coming from your own mouth!?"

"Look, I don't see why you're getting all worked up. I'm not losing me mind, and I _do_ know what I said. I _do_ acknowledge that the word `catapult' is correctly linked to the appropriate dictionary meaning in my brain. I know what I'm saying, Matt."

I blinked widely at him, waving my hands in the air. "Do you!?"

"Yes!"

"You realise that you're saying you want to build – from scratch – a giant, handmade, premeditated weapon of _war?_"

A simple nod. "Aye."

"A massive _catapult?_"

"Aye."

"With which to... _fling_ things?"

"Aye, that was the intention of the invention." Oh. Almost _too_ perfect for him – and the smirk told he knew it.

I glanced around at our cohorts for help, purposefully ignoring the happy gloat on his face at yet another "catchy phrase." But they clearly found this to be a one-on-one argument, as no one stepped in to fight either side.

I held out my arms in dramatic agony. "Why am I the only one who sees this as a blatant cry for help!?" I wailed to them, unashamed at my desperation to reel in the psychosis.

"It _is_ a cry for help, mate!" Simon assured me. "That's why I'm comin' to _you_ with it. The others can know and help, of course, but _you're_ really the one who I need to work on it with me--"

"Oh? Why me?" I hated to ask, but I couldn't stop myself, even as I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously.

His logic could not be swayed: "Because you're the only one in our class who grasps physics as well as I do. See, if we work together, we can have it ready in half the time--"

"Not _that_ kind of help, you lunatic!"

"Well, what kind of help were you going to offer?"

"A good shrink!" I scoffed, raking a hand through my hair – and was pleasantly relieved to find that not a clump of it had come out yet.

"Right, like flinging miniature boulders is gonna have any positive effect."

I glared at him, smouldering; three months in, I still couldn't always tell when he was pretending to be daft to be funny, and when he truly misconstrued my meaning...

"No, see, we want to fling _big_ things, yeah? To thwart the enemy from overtaking the castle--"

"I know what the objective _is_, Simon – I just don't think you've thought this through entirely. Or at all. Or with a shred of sanity dangling somewhere near your conscious state at the same time--"

"It's the whole point of the game, Bells! Protect the castle, take down their fort. It's not difficult to grasp--"

"Apparently not nearly as difficult for _you_ to grasp as reality versus fantasy! You said yourself – it's a _game!_ You're talking about throwing heavy, dangerous _rocks_, at high speeds, at a group of teenage boys with _sticks!_"

I froze, holding my breath, hoping something rational would sink in.

It didn't.

A solemn pause, and then a very matter-of-fact, "Aye."

"That's not very _safe_, is it!?"

"Not for the enemy, no! Which is the entire purpose: ultimate destruction, man! We win!"

I peered closely at him, the thought occurring to me vaguely that perhaps he'd just been doing more than flipping pages down in the library...

I waved my hand in front of his eyes. "I'm not reaching you in there, am I?"

He shoved my hand away, but went on as calmly as ever, "Look, if you want to put an academic spin on it, this will prove to Dr. House--"

"What a bunch of insane idiots we are!?"

"--that we understand physics! So maybe--"

"At the cost of our friends' safety?!"

Nevermind that this was apparently something he actually considered to be high on his list of priorities to accomplish before death...

"I _know_ you, Si; despite my denial of that very statement whenever we're seen in public together, I _do know_ you. You'll claim it's for this class or that assignment, but behind all the bollocks, I _know_ you only intend to use it in those silly mock battles to prove yours is the better team or whatever. But seriously, Si – someone could get really, genuinely, _gruesomely_ _hurt_ this time! Do you really want to throw away all the hard work and effort you've put into building your reputation as an excellent student here – despite the rumours – for the sake of a huge toy which could very well become the bane of your existence with one _gross_ miscalculation and an accident to ruin your entire life – not to mention countless others? Are you truly considering taking that kind of risk, for your bloody _catapult!?_ And please don't make that careless bit of swearing a literal description, I beg you."

After that long-winded, pleading rant, which left even _me_ breathless, there was a heavy silence in the room – indicating, perhaps, that I'd managed to squeeze some sense of reason through a crack in his damaged skull.

I noticed him quirk an eyebrow at me.

"We may get extra credit if we correctly predict where certain objects will land."

I hesitated; eyed him up warily; furrowed my beaten brow...

"...How much extra credit?"

Waking up with Dom's arms round me for the second morning in a row – a second _weekend_ in a row, at that – was a bit disconcerting at first, but nothing I couldn't imagine myself getting the hang of. Four nights in total, we'd spent together by then, and so far things seemed to be going... well, quite a bit more than just all right. It was just a bit awkward to wake up in a different bed this time, and had been more than a little awkward to explain to Chris the weekend before _why_ we'd shared a bed at all when there was a perfectly good, probably unused one in my own room.

I'd tried to ask poignant rhetorical questions of him to get Chris to understand without actually having to come right out and say it; since the bloke wasn't an imbecile, I chalked his likely feigned ignorance up to simple denial, or just not wanting to know. So Dom stepped in and claimed that I was simply having severe bouts of homesickness.

Wanker.

But, as Dom reasoned later when we were alone, better to have him swallow _that_ yarn rather than choke on the truth – not that Dom was suddenly worried what our mate would think of us if we – pun intended – came out with it, but just to let him have his peace of mind.

A mind, actually, which seemed quite preoccupied during that time. I was convinced it was his aversion to us because of this new subject he didn't want to discuss with his two best mates – their _shared_ sex life...

The first few days after our first time "together" were spent in a foggy haze of surrealism, hanging out with others like usual, but lingering more in the background so we could stare stupidly at each other and giggle about our little "secret." Not that it wasn't plainly obvious, as Orlando had exemplified, to certain _others_ on our floor or in our classes who were (Orli aside), thankfully, uncharacteristically kind and _quiet_ about it.

Then again, as much as I figured Simon _did_ know what was going on, I just never considered that much of his silence in regards to what he could have so easily made a spectacle of had more to do with his _own_ stress and/or turmoil. Then again, despite his outgoing nature and fun-loving attitude, the commitment to not holding anything back when it struck him, Simon rarely made a show of his own deeper issues – some of which I didn't even suspect of him.

So as Dom and I gradually slipped from the euphoric high of newly-discovered love – in conjunction, of course, with _lust_ - into a happy, comfortable but unspoken understanding that we were, in fact, "Together" (with a capital "T"!), I slowly began to realise that... maybe I'd been jealous of my roommate for the wrong reasons.

That's not to say Simon didn't still possess all those previously mentioned qualities that I admired him for; the daring, the openness, the ease with which he _seemed_ to live his life, the passion with which he, in fact, _did_ put into his more creative or cherished endeavors (whether it be a cleverly constructed essay on the weaknesses of the current government, or the concentration put into his immaculate fork tower, erected during one particularly otherwise boring lunch hour) – it still reigned over much of his personality.

But sometimes with someone like that around, it's easy to forget that they can have the very same – or perhaps worse – problems the rest of us do. And sometimes, the rest of us can start to forget the things that make _us_ special. Or, well... fortunate.

Feeling disoriented and drowsy as I made my way back to my room for a much-needed change of clothes (thank God the corridor was empty at that moment – less obstacles to run into), I thought nothing of just waltzing right through the door without any hesitation.

It took me a few moments, however, to realise what was wrong with the picture as I fumbled around in my dresser for a new pair of boxers. It wasn't so unusual for me to be awake (in theory) on a Sunday before my roommate. Nor was it unusual for him to snooze peacefully on through my typical clumsiness and quiet curses under my breath.

What _was_ unusual, though, struck me when I accidentally knocked my elbow against the back of my bed headboard and glanced over reflexively to make sure I hadn't awakened him – to see a second lump of human in bed beside him.

We had all heard the jokes about Simon and the twins; many of us had begun making up our own, which they seemed to appreciate as well; hell, some of us (okay, just me and Dom) had even begun suspecting that not all of it was _total_ bullshit – especially if the "Gay Zorro" handjob had been anything to go by.

But to stumble upon this strong circumstantial evidence – Simon, in bed, with a very obviously red head beside him – with my own eyes was... well, a bit of a surprise, really.

Of course, there were any other number of rational explanations here, one being the very excuse Dom had given Chris about the two of _us_. Given that the twins had known Si for so long that they could have practically been brothers, that excuse itself seemed more plausible for them than trying to cover my own truth with it.

But since my mind was already drenched in what was a new experience I was just getting used to, and because of all the in-jokes and bad humour about questionable relationships floating between me and my friends those days, it was the first thing that jumped into _my_ mind.

Perhaps the noise I'd made with my elbow had been what woke him initially, or maybe he'd actually been awake the whole time; but it was definitely the hushed start I gave upon seeing this that made Simon turn his dark, shaggy head of hair my way. And, true to form, he caught me in his bleary morning sights – and after a beat, merely smiled sweetly and waved at me as I crouched in front of my dresser, still speechless.

I stammered for something to say, feeling awkward suddenly for barging in on what could have been an intimate scenario. But he only held a finger to his lips in warning to silence me, then pointed to his bedmate with a sly grin, miming that the other had been drinking like a fish and was still asleep.

Nevermind that there had obviously been a free bed at their disposal the previous night – I was suddenly very eager to accept the idea that the mystery twin had simply been too drunk to move out of the bed, so Simon had joined him – innocently, as a surrogate brother would.

I returned to fetching the rest of my new clothes for the day, but the quiet was sharply interrupted then by the shrill shriek of the telephone – sending me nearly through the roof.

The grunt of annoyance from the bed coincided with Simon's burst of laughter (at my expense, no doubt), so I wasn't the only one startled by the noise. Simon sat up quickly and shuffled his way down the length of his bed, snatching up the receiver before my heart had even settled back into my chest.

"Aye?... What?... You rang me up to ask me _that?_ You're just down the hall, ya lazy cunt!... Aye, he's here..."

As he spoke to the caller, I glanced over to catch a glimpse of Ben's vaguely sleeping face trying to press itself deeper into the pillow. But that's not what caught my attention.

In that one glance, I realised – with more than just a touch of curiosity now – that Simon was, in fact, not wearing anything under the duvet he'd dragged with him to the other end of the bed. My eyes wide, I couldn't help but gape at the small of his back, recognising the several small tattoos printed into his bare flesh as he reached over to shake Ben's leg.

Ben, strangely enough, was fully dressed – at least he seemed to be.

As Ben petulantly and blindly kicked back at the invading hands, Si continued over the phone, "He's getting there – give 'im a few minutes, mate, we'll be over soon enough." And with that, he tossed the receiver back into its cradle carelessly and flopped back on the mattress to reach up and poke the other boy in the stomach.

"Eh, James is waitin'. Get a move on."

The groan from the pillow suggested Ben wasn't eager to go meet his twin before breakfast, and the hand that groped down to ensnare Simon by his covered waist and pull him up further backed that theory up.

Raising my eyebrows, I smirked at the two tangled Scots boys and quipped casually, "You always sleep naked with your bedmates, Si?"

But at the sound of my voice, Ben suddenly sat bolt upright on the bed, arm snatched back to his torso as if backing away from a snake. His eyes huge, he glared straight at me like I'd just set the venomous snake down his pants myself.

"Wh-What!?" he hollered, giving the impression that my comment was news to him – or, perhaps, that my _presence_ was.

Once again, Simon just laughed airily, putting his arms behind his head as he lounged lazily beneath the duvet.

But as I stood with my armful of fresh clothes, Ben continued in what was a pretty believable fit of hysterics. And not the expected laughing kind which usually came from this troupe.

"What the fu—What's he talkin' 'bout, man!?"

Simon's light giggling faded, and his gaze drifted from Ben's wide eyes to me, then back again – a hint of something akin to confusion hiding there.

"Eh?" He glanced between the two of us once more, then rolled his eyes – just before throwing back the cover to expose his nude form outright.

As Ben and I both groaned and protected our eyes, Simon proclaimed proudly, "Hey, _look_, everyone! I'm _nnnnaked!_ Woo-hoo!"

His resounding chortles at our obvious discomfort were soon drowned out by Ben's suddenly very serious yelling – and a jerking, panicked lurching on the bed to toss the duvet over laughing boy again and scramble away.

"Christ, man, what the fuck're you playin' at!" he wailed in disgust, scurrying over Si's legs to get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could. "We don't wanna see that shit! Jesus!"

And as Ben stood there in the middle of the room, attempting to collect himself, a very odd moment took place: Ben, straightening his clothes and muttering incoherently to himself, as Simon sat halfway up on the bed, duvet barely covering his abdomen, and stared up at his old friend – a clearly puzzled expression on his slightly stubbly face, somewhere between stunned and bemused.

"Bloody hell, man," Ben grumbled as he headed for the door, running fingers anxiously through the short ginger hair on his head as he avoided looking back at either of us. "You think that shit's funny? Like we all think it's a laugh all the time? Fuckin' hell--"

Simon followed Ben with his perplexed eyes, mouth slowly morphing from a faint smile to a shocked gape.

"Well, hell," he stammered breathlessly, as if groping desperately to hold onto some humour in the labored atmosphere. "You didn't seem to find my body this funny or offensive last night--"

Ben cut him off with a harsh growl as he yanked the door open, then spat out angrily, "Fuckin' pervert!" And he stormed out noisily, slamming the door behind him.

As I watched the scene unfold, all I could do was stand by my bed, clutching my clothes in my hands and trying to read between the lines of what was going on. But after Ben was gone, there was very little mystery left to it: Simon was left sitting there, gawking at the closed door, eyes wide and unbelieving as his jaw hung loosely agape.

For the first time since I'd laid eyes on him the year before, Simon was speechless – but, understandably, I couldn't feel the surge of triumphant glee I'd always expected to get in that moment. (Granted, I never imagined it would come about under circumstances such as _that_...) In fact, from the slowly dawning realisation on his face, I actually started to feel _bad_ for the bloke.

But Simon, of course, was never to be outdone. Not that he ever planned to _be_ the victor of any argument, but it always played out that way. He merely acted on instinct.

And his instinct in that moment was to yank himself into attack mode. Throwing the duvet aside – which caused me to cringe and twist away again – he marched straight for the door and hurled it open, leaping out into the now sparsely populated hallway – buck naked and uncaring – and shouting to Ben's retreating back, "You fuckin' _coward!_"

As I turned back hesitantly, Simon was coming inside again, slamming the door harder than Ben had. The guy looked so muddled, so furious, that his state of undress didn't faze me anymore (besides, with his rather lean, fit build, there were certainly worse things to be exposed to...). But he didn't even seem to notice me anymore. Head bowed low and mumbling curses to himself, he stomped back to his bed and flung himself under the duvet. Hands behind his head, glaring at the ceiling, he started uttering words I could actually make out:

"Sick of the fuckin' lyin' bastards 'round here, fake fuckin' cunts, too fuckin' worried 'bout what everyone _else_ thinks to fuckin' think for themselves and be _real_..."

I stood there uncertainly, furrowing my brow in worry over his apparent amnesia about not being alone...

I tentatively took a step forward, peeking cautiously into his face, and asked the dumbest question one could have thought to ask at that moment: "Oi, mate... You... You okay?"

There was a slight pause, then a starkly real, crisp voice answered bluntly, "No. I'm not."

His usual slight lilt, even when being vaguely serious, was significantly absent this time, though I hardly wondered why. For a few more moments, I toggled between wanting to flee the room entirely, and wanting to try and console him somehow – though I had no idea how to do _that_.

Finally, at his stoic silence, I broke down and sighed, nudging the bed with my knee.

"C'mon, mate, forget about it, eh? Prob'ly just the shock of morning or something, no big deal."

He rolled his eyes at that suggestion, but didn't say a word one way or the other in response.

"Look," I tried again, spontaneously throwing out the offer, "come and have breakfast with me and Dom and Chris. We'll get your mind off of the stupidity around he--" I stopped short, rethinking my words, then amended, "Well, we'll get you _laughin'_, at least – C'mon, we'll go out to the castle after and start that catapult--"

"No," he cut in with a heavy sigh, less snappy than before, but disturbingly more morose. "Think I'll just stay in today. Spend the day naked and miserable."

The lilt had returned, but was far more bitter than I'd heard from him so far.

"C'mon, mate," I urged. "Y'can't stay in bed all day just 'cause one bloke was bein' a dick..."

Simon remained silent, steadfast in his decision to prefer moping over pretending the slight hadn't hurt him.

I tilted my head to the side, resigned to accept his choice. "At least can I bring you somethin' from the dining hall? You gotta eat, man."

To my surprise, Simon finally caught my eyes with his own and offered a helpless, tired smile.

"Thanks, mate..." But the smile faded as he glanced away again. "I'm not really hungry." And he rolled onto his side, turning his back to me.

I shrugged mournfully at his stubborn refusal – but what could I do?

"I'll check in on you later," I assured him, and he waved dismissively over his shoulder to send me on my way.

After that unexpectedly heavy scene, going back to try my hand at waking Dom and Chris was a relief.

I changed quickly as Dom nipped off to the loo, and gave a hopeless chance at shaking Chris by the arm for the fourth time.

"Fi' more minutes, Mum..."

I rolled my eyes at the lazy lout but decided maybe a breakfast alone with Dom would be nice, actually. Especially when he reappeared in the room looking all put-together and – yes – _spiffy_.

With that easy but still somehow sardonic smile twisting his lips, the mere sight of him made me smile as well, in my much goofier, sillier manner.

"Hungry?" he asked with that quirk of his eyebrow which lewdly suggested something much different than the expected innocent meaning.

I offered a conspicuous wink in return and replied, "If I know what you mean?" in my best imitation yet of Dr. House and his Americanised accent.

Dom tousled my hair playfully, then craned his neck to see over my shoulder. "And what about the boy, Mama Bear? No luck?"

I scoffed and waved towards Chris uselessly. "Ah, leave it. He'll make his way down in his own time to destroy half the kitchen."

So we let the mammoth alone to finish sleeping off the hangover, strolling down the hall as he mused what could possibly be served for breakfast...

I slowed down a bit when we came closer to my dorm room door, and Dom caught onto my evident interest in the two figures standing in front of it and copied me. The twins were standing there, having a bit of a hissing debate between themselves as Dom and I wandered with intentional casualness by them.

"Oh, quit bein' a baby, c'mon," James was chuckling to his brother. "So he's in a mood--"

And despite Ben's attempt at a protest, the long-haired twin knocked carelessly at the door.

"Oi, Si, let's go, mate--"

But his friendly cajoling was cut off sharply with a loud and scathing, "_Piss off!_"

James paused, obviously taken aback by the rather rude response. He peered at his brother cautiously, but Ben stared at his feet, gnawing his lip anxiously.

"Let's just go, man," Ben muttered, trying to urge James away from the door. "I may've... I may've fucked up... Just leave 'im—"

"Naw, that ain't right," James protested, and knocked again. "_Si!_ Get yer ass out here--"

All four of us jumped in unison when something heavy and blunt – _Dear God, don't let that have been anything of mine!_ - crashed into the other side of the door.

"_**FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING CUNT!**_"

James balked at the door for a second – then turned and balked instead at his brother's guilt-riddled face.

"C'mon, leave it," Ben repeated, much more sternly now as he yanked his brother's shirt and started stomping away.

James hesitated for a moment, then stalked after his brother, calling threateningly, "Eh! What the fuck did you _do!?_"

And in the ensuing silence, Dom and I exchanged wide-eyed, petrified glances.

"Cor."

I nodded my assent. "You said it."

Moody roommates and their mysterious fights with questionable friends aside, my day seemed to be shaping up quite nicely – even if breakfast was not entirely thrilling.

Having a meal with just Dom was a treat, of course, but the food itself was... well... Let's just say I've had vomit look more appetizing...

But being with Dom was great, especially because it gave me an opportunity to finally address something else which had been plaguing my ever-tortured brain – and, after witnessing the altercation between Simon and Ben, it was now prominent in my mind. A very valid concern, I thought, so it was good to be able to bring it up.

As I attempted to ignore the pungent odor of the questionable substance on my plate, I leaned in close over the table, giving him a surreptitious stare, and asked cautiously, "So, um... what d'you think... Chris thinks about us, eh?"

Dom looked more traumatised by the mystery meat on his own tray as he poked it daintily with a fork prong. "Cor, did they even bother killing the beast first, or is it out grazing in a pasture somewhere with a bandage on its arse?"

"D'you think he knows? Blimey, of course he _knows_ – well, he _must_ know by _now_, at least, even if he didn't pick up on it at first..."

"This was supposed to be sunnyside _up_, not violently darkside _hell_..."

I chewed thoughtfully on the end of my fork, my gaze wandering to an empty space over his shoulder. "If he does know, d'you think he minds? I mean, like, coming from the same town 'n all, maybe he's afraid of being lumped in with us, y'know? `The Queers of Devon' or something..."

"My God, I know there's a fine line between `clucking raw' and `kill it dead,' but I think they studied at Bellamy's School For Defamation of Culinary Skills!"

"He seems so distant lately... Y'know, he even let me take a swig of his _lager_ the other night. I made it perfectly clear I was stealing it, and he just looked away like he was ignoring me picking my nose or somethin'..."

Dom suddenly winced, groping at his full mouth in desperation. "Holy shit!" he barked, spitting out the food in his mouth onto the tray beside his alleged meal. "I just bit a bullet! I swear to you, I just tasted lead!"

I reached over and grabbed his wrist, yanking his attention to me. He peered back with hopeful eyes, seeking some kind of solace from my touch over his dilemma...

"Y'don't think he's set up a camera to record us doin' it, do ya?"

Dom's face fell – but only for an instant, as it then switched to an expression of distinct disgust. "Why the hell would he wanna do that!? Chris isn't into guys doin' it – and certainly not _us!"_

"But, like, maybe he'd try to use it to blackmail us--"

"Blackmail for what?! To give him the answers on his next biology test? We're not even in the same _class_ as him, you twat!"

I let go of his wrist, looking away and mumbling to myself as he wiped his mouth with a napkin and cringed at the rest of his meal.

"Balls to this – I'll get take-away when we go out." He glanced up at me, finally taking notice of my troubled face, and reached out to nudge my arm. "Oi. Listen. Chris doesn't care what we do, eh? He's our mate, yeah? Has he treated us any differently in the past two weeks?"

I gawked at his apparent amnesia, and reminded him hysterically, "His _lager_, Dom! _Lager!_"

Rolling his eyes, Dom waved it away. "So his mind's somewhere else these days, so what? Not like _we've_ been all there either, y'know. Besides, we're all a bit distracted and stressed lately, what with exams coming up next month. Apart from all that, I think he may have a little more on his mind than we think, and I don't mean classwork."

I paused, raising my eyebrows at this new information. "Oh?" A sneaky grin slid onto my face and I pressed, "What else is nagging him, then? Or should I say... _who_ else?"

Dom shrugged, absently shoving more slop into his mouth as if he'd forgotten how horrid he'd just proclaimed it. He instantly flinched, then spat it back out.

"Cor! Why'd you let me do that!?"

"Because I know what else you've put in there," I joked suggestively, a twinkle in my eyes. "Thought you couldn't do any worse than that..."

He caught my gaze and hid a secret smile, becoming a wee bit bashful at the obscured reference. He cleared his throat, then, and went on normally, "Dunno who it is, but I'd imagine it's one a' them girls who hangs around the rec center in town. He's always chattin' 'em up when he goes there."

I sighed and sat back, folding my arms over my chest and casting him a dreamy-eyed glance. "Ah, young love... Isn't it so... invigorating?" And I slyly nudged his leg under the table with my foot, intentionally close to his inner thigh.

Dom smirked into his tray, mumbling a surly threat of, "I'll invigorate _you_, ya fuckin' tease..."

And with that grumble, he shoved another forkful into his face – half a second later, he was hacking it out again and throwing the silverware down.

"Damnit, you want to poison me, don't you!?"

Ben:

Standing in front of that door, the only thing I could think was, _God, this sucks. I hate this. I really, really hate this._

Having a mate who was so naturally accepting of practically anything put before him, it was always hard to get to the point where I knew I had to be the one to apologise. Not because of the chance that he'd gloat – which he hadn't really ever done, but there was always a chance – but because of that shitty feeling that bubbled up inside me when I knew I'd been the one to upset his typically unfettered temper.

He really didn't have one, actually. A temper, I mean. It took a lot – or, at least, certain specific issues – to get to him. And on the rare occasions when _I'd_ done it, the gut-wrenching sensation, knowing I'd... hurt him in some way – well, it made me want to throw up.

But if there was one thing worse than admitting to these stupid mistakes, it was knowing he was mad at _me_, not speaking to me; his silence, his cold shoulder... well, that's what always got to me most. I just couldn't take it when he was like that. Nothing felt right again, until I _made_ it right.

I suppose that should've been a fucking _huge_ red light for me, a giant signal, a big neon arrow pointing directly to the explanation behind _why_ I always felt out of sorts when we fought – but at the time, I didn't want to deal with seeing it. We were only seventeen, for fuck's sake – I didn't want to admit, that early, to something I was actually really afraid of.

But maybe, I thought to myself as I gathered the courage to knock, just maybe he'd settle for something... easier.

I was sure Matt could see the guilt and shame on my face the instant he opened the door, because when he saw me standing there, he gave me a look that seemed both sympathetic and apologetic at the same time.

"He here?" was all I could muster, hoping Matt would get the picture without me having to explain myself.

Clearing his throat, he mumbled to me uncomfortably that Simon was, indeed, there, and as I went in, he grabbed a few books from his desk and excused himself rather quickly, closing the door behind him.

Well, he'd caught on fast enough; I only hoped Simon would be as understanding.

He was lying on his stomach on his bed – fully clothed this time – his head resting on his arms, which were covering an open notebook. The earphones on his head and loud, tinny racket I could just about make out from where I stood explained why he hadn't continued his earlier fit of throwing things at the door, realising it was me. Actually, when I inched closer and dared to peek, the real reason he hadn't kicked my ass out the door already was because he was – even with that loud music blaring in his ears – asleep.

Fuck. I knew I was in trouble, then – Si only fell asleep during the day when he was really fucking depressed.

I was nervous. Even after all those years, I was nervous going to him to make up. From previous experience, I should've known he'd cooled down – since it _was_ almost eight by then – and would listen calmly, then probably forgive me and move on – like usual.

But this time, I was nervous for more reasons than just the ridiculous notion that he'd tell me to fuck off. For some reason – that scary, unmentionable one I didn't want to think about at the time – I knew this ran deeper than any of our other arguments. Because this time, it was _real_. This time, it was... _more_.

I held my breath as I leaned down and tapped him on the shoulder. Too lightly at first, so then I actually had to shake him. Coming out of an unintentional nap, he glanced up at me through bleary eyes and smiled shyly – and for one brief moment, I had the insane hope that he'd forgotten the whole thing...

But then, as he rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes, he yawned widely before murmuring dryly, "Hey there, _Peter_." So sharp, so stabbing, that I knew immediately: he hadn't forgotten one second. In fact, he probably remembered more than I could.

Instantly, my gut did a nose-dive. My shoulders slouching in defeat, standing over his bed, I bowed my head. "Look," I began quietly, surprised if he could hear me at all, "I... I fucked up..."

Suddenly, all the words in my head, all the reasons and explanations and rationalising – it all just dissipated, melted away into some unknown place in my brain that knew I was just trying to make excuses because I didn't want to face the truth.

Facing _him_ was almost as hard, especially when, even after all the alcohol had gotten out of me, I looked at him – and he still looked to me as he had the night before. It hadn't gone away – one step closer to that frightening truth.

I kept my eyes low, then, thinking that if I just didn't meet his gaze, I could get through this.

"I wasn't ready... I wasn't expecting Matt to... or anyone to... to know... I know that sounds bad, but it's... I just... panicked... I may've thought I'd known what I was doing... And it's not like it was... _bad_... was never _bad_, y'know... even before then... when we just kinda... played around... but I... I didn't think it would happen – someone else... seeing... I mean... I shouldn't have... gotten so... Y'know..."

He listened silently and patiently to my botched "apology," his eyes penetrating me the entire time. When I trailed off, then, unsure of where to go from there, I heard him take in a deep breath before expelling it harshly. I glanced up at him carefully, hoping not to see the potential anger in his eyes...

Instead, Simon was looking out the window, a tired and dull expression on his face.

Seeing how listless he seemed, I hazarded, "Are you still mad at me?" Sounding like a fucking gradeschool kid, but I didn't know how else to ask.

I didn't know what I was expecting – for him to laugh it off, maybe; to roll his eyes and tell me to fuck off...

"No," he said plainly, a dispassionate tone to his voice – which bothered me more than either of the other possibilities in my mind. "I'm not mad. Just... fed up."

And that was it, right there: that was exactly how he sounded. Not eager to forget and move on, not angry and ready to curse me out. Just... so _tired_. Disturbingly so. Like when parents say they're not angry, "just disappointed." Took any meager wind there barely was already straight out of my sails. Felt worse than anything else I'd thought up for him to respond with.

"I should've... I shouldn't have expected you to be..." His eyes darted around aimlessly for a bit, no real emotion besides regret in them. "You were reactin' the way you should've," he finally relented. "You reacted like any normal, average, sane teenage boy would."

I bit my lip, watching him closely – more closely than I remembered doing before. "Sounds like an insult."

He shrugged limply, still avoiding _my_ gaze now. "I don't mean it like that. It's not a compliment _or_ an insult. It's just fact. And _I_ just forget that... Well, that I'm not a normal, average, sane teenage boy," he chuckled bitterly, glaring out the window again. "Can't expect everyone else to think the same way my mind works... Besides," he added with a wry smirk and roll of his eyes, "I should've known it was the alcohol talkin' last night--"

Without meaning to, the very sentence coming out caused my instinctual reaction, forcing me to blurt out thoughtlessly, "It wasn't!" I stopped cold, hesitating when he switched the heated glare onto me. Still, I managed to find my voice enough to croak out, "I mean, I... I..." Swallowing hard, I nodded once and said shakily, "I meant all that. Everythin' I said... I just... needed the courage to say it."

Despite my very vulnerable confession, Simon just snickered scathingly, "Liquid courage. Goes away with the first piss a' the day."

"Look," I burst out, finally having enough of his miserable take on it, "I'm not as confident as you, okay? I'm not as strong, I care what people think, y'know? I get scared of it! Of _course_ I get scared of it! I'm nowhere near as secure as you, so if that makes me weak--"

To my surprise, instead of backing down and apologising for being so harsh – _or_ taking it in and admitting proudly that he _was_, in fact, better than me for happily accepting things about himself that most would flinch at – he got right up in front of me, kneeling on the bed to come face-to-face with me as he fought back, "_Confident!? Secure!?_ I'm fuckin' terrified of everythin', man!"

I stopped abruptly again, frozen to my spot as he slumped back onto his heels, leaning weakly back against the wall and shrugging helplessly – he looked on the verge of tears, despite the slightly bent smile sitting on his face.

"I'm scared of so much, it hurts," he admitted softly, hand lost in the long dark locks to scratch at his head. "But who wants to dwell on that all the time, eh? You'll just fuckin' lose it if ya do... But yeah, of course I'm scared of it – I just can't _lie_ about it, y'know? I can't cover it up, even if it scares me shitless! What's the point? I couldn't pull it off, mate, even if I tried. I'm not nearly as confident and secure as everyone thinks – why you think I got so fuckin' pissed at you!?" he exclaimed, nearly laughing now as he gestured wildly at me. "Y'think I'd get upset if I didn't actually give a shit? And if givin' a shit means I'm not _confident_, then I'm not – I'm not confident that even someone like you, who I've known for so long, would wanna admit to somethin' like _that_ with _me_. 'Course it fuckin' hurts, I ain't made a' steel!"

He paused for a second to look away, and as he sniffed and scratched at his nose, what he was saying slowly penetrated my brain.

"And by the way," he went on, his voice wobbling a bit in his attempt to quell his humiliation with humour, "you gettin' so upset about wakin' up next to someone who's naked – if you'd just laughed it off, made a joke about it, Matt would've just thought it was Simon bein' weird again. He wouldn't have wondered about it at all, but you gave yourself away when you fuckin' shoved it all off on _me_, makin' me look like a fuckin' sick pervert or somethin'. If you'd just played out the usual joke, like, it wouldn't have been anything too real for you, just another one of our stupid gay jokes."

I winced when I saw his point, embarrassed now at my plainly obvious anxiety showing through. "I'm sorry if I made ya look bad--"

But he cut me off with a shake of his head, insisting, "I don't _care_, Ben! Not about _that_. Don't you get it? Don't you see? It's not... I'm not upset that you're afraid to be as open about it, but outright pretendin' it didn't happen, like it's such a sin to even consider it..." He hesitated, sounding choked up – before forcing out another laugh, though a bit more breathlessly this time. "That fuckin' tore me, man. I've known you for more years of my life than I _haven't_, we've been too close for too long – and for you to just go and brush me off like I'm a disease or somethin'..."

This time, he actually _did_ get too choked up to go on, even had to turn his head away and everything. I hadn't seen him this upset since... well... his mother was _really_ ill.

No doubt, I realised, his concern for her then had something to do with his more emotional reaction to my fuck-up, but still... It was real and it was there, right in front of me – I couldn't _pretend_ it wasn't hurting. Either of us.

"Felt like fuckin' _shit_, mate," he hissed at last, rolling his eyes at his own display of emotion. But he didn't make himself stop talking either. "Even if I misinterpreted the whole thing last night as somethin' more than it was – and I _have_ been known to fuck up now and again – you didn't have to act _so_ mortified. Could've tried to hide _that_ a bit too, if whatever you really felt was... I dunno... Whatever you meant..."

I hesitated for a long time, unsure what I was supposed to do. I thought about all sorts of options – blaming it all on stress, brushing it off like it was nothing, just a bad night, a bad weekend, a bad month...

What I ended up doing was exactly what I _felt_ like doing: I sat on the bed in front of him, gnawing my lip nervously as I looked at him and said exactly what was on my own mind.

"I'm sorry... It's not like... it didn't mean exactly what I said it did..."

Simon shook his head at me sharply, giving me a pleading look. "Don't try to make me feel better with more lies, Ben, ya keep heapin' 'em up there, an' one day it'll just start rainin' shit on ya--"

I smirked at that, but insisted forcefully, "No, it's not a--"

But he _still_ had me beat – he jerked forward, grabbing my shoulders and twisting me to face him, staring hard at me. Even if his eyes were a bit tearful – though he wouldn't let anything fall – he wasn't going to force me into anything.

"_Think_ about it, mate – just stop for a second and _think_. D'you really wanna start that now? _Truly?_ Like Matt and Dom, all that shit? Stop 'n think _real hard_ about it. 'Cause I ain't in this to get made a fool of. If you want somethin' solid – with _me_ – that's one thing. If you prefer the shortened version, that's fine too. But neither of those choices comes with the easy out of selective memory loss. You can enjoy it for what it is when it happens, or you can work hard at a steady relationship – either one suits me fine when it comes to you. Just let me _know_, and don't tell me what you think I wanna hear. And _don't_ pretend it was all just a fuckin' _nightmare_."

That said, he let go of me, kneeling straight again, and gave me his usual serene gaze. "So?"

I drew in a deep breath, considering my options carefully – and trying to figure out what exactly it was that was going on inside of me.

The truth was... I didn't _know_.

I shrugged, shaking my head, and only mumbled, "I just... panicked..." It was hardly an answer... but when I glanced up at him again, unable to hide my own uncertainty, his lips curled into a slight grin, looking more like himself again.

"Can you forgive me?" I asked, the pleading in my voice evident to my own ears – Simon must have heard it too; my begging not to have to decide right now...

With a friendly nudge to my shoulder, he quipped lazily, "You can fuck me all you want, whether it's serious or not." He held a finger to my face, lifting one eyebrow in a mock threat. "Just don't ever fuck me _over_ like that again." His tone changed again, ever so slightly – a genuine appeal of his own: "_Please_."

What else could I say? The relief in knowing we were okay again was all it took to make me smile. I nodded firmly. "Promise."


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Lesson 8: How To Even The Score

Ratings/Warnings: R or so – language, slashy bits (not too graphic), stupidity, AU, pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: I made this up because I like picturing pretty boys being complete insane idiots. Oh, and groping each other too. XD

The dean of our illustrious boys' school sat at his desk and peered back at a very familiar face, sighing heavily as he tried to recall the number of times in almost a year and a half that he had been in this exact position with this particular student. He was never one to cherish these occurrences, when he actually had to exercise his authority over a situation as pointless and – with this young man specifically – ridiculous as this.

It was always difficult to hand out punishments to Simon – not because the boy was pure and perfect, but because the "problems" he caused were – well – always quite unusual. He never cheated on tests; he never bullied other students; and he certainly never insulted or intimidated faculty or staff in a berating manner (at least nothing that was _clearly_ derogatory, anyway). His arguments, as well, always were presented with a concise and relatively understandable reasoning behind them. With Simon, hardly anything was very clear, black and white, cut and dry – there was always a grain of sincerity to his actions, no matter how absurd...

So these little occasional "chats" they had were half amusing, and half utterly aggravating. The dean constantly was forced to stifle his own laughter when the boy made his ironic, twisted – but still somehow valid – points. Not to mention he was one of the most hopeful students to attend the school in a while; add an inordinate amount of sly charm to the mixture, and the kid could probably have talked his way out of a cold-blooded (or _was_ it?) murder.

It was never enough to warrant disrespect from his peers _or_ authority figures, not enough to earn him expulsion. But _something_ had to be done – which was why the boy held some kind of unmentioned record for most weekend detentions in over a decade, yet still made honors every term.

There was not even a trace of contempt to his face as he returned the dean's stare and commented with the most baffled of expressions, "I still don't see why I'm being punished like a criminal."

The dean tilted his head to the side and, smothering a smirk, replied, "Actually, Simon, you should feet grateful that I decided to forgo the shackles and prison guards in favor of relying on the honor code to get the truth from you. Though I'm really not sure _why_ I'm being so blind in this case, trusting _you_ to be open with me, when it's pretty clear-cut what happened."

"It's not so clear-cut, as you say," Simon protested earnestly. "I had a legitimate reason for my actions, and there was no harm in them either--"

"Simon," the dean began, expelling a breath as he slumped in his cushioned chair, "let me first start off by saying that, yes, you are and always have been an exemplary student – one of the finest and brightest to come to this school in decades..."

"Thank you, sir – you're too kind."

"You're right," the dean muttered, minutely rolling his eyes. "I _am_. Because, Simon, when I say you're exemplary, I mean that only in the _academic_ sense – which is probably why the majority of your actions are overlooked by much of the staff – including myself."

The boy shrugged helplessly, looking as clueless as a baby being shown a computer. "I've no idea what you're speaking of, sir – I would _never knowingly_ act out in a manner which didn't befit my own standards."

The dean sighed again, sounding tired, weary. "That's exactly the problem: your _own_ standards. However high your grades are, when I praise your accomplishments, I _only_ refer to _them_; as for your attitude and, well, _common sense_ – or, more accurately, lack thereof--"

"Ah, I hate to disagree," Simon interrupted with a pointed finger. "But, sir, I must argue this accusation – I _do_, in fact, possess a great _deal_ of common sense--"

"Which is _why_ you were walking the school grounds with an _axe?_"

The finger dropped slowly to the arm of the boy's chair and he glanced away furtively. "...I didn't say I _use_ it," he mumbled under his breath, "but I _do have_ it..." He straightened his back and put before the dean more coherently, "And I wasn't aware of an attitude--"

The dean accidentally let his smirk slip out as he eyed up the boy across the desk. "Oh, you certainly have that, Simon. Quirky as it may be, there still exists an abundance of it."

Simon blinked furiously, shaking his head. "I don't understand what this has to do with Mr. Samson reprimanding me for what is truly _not_ such a punishable act--"

"Simon," the dean cut in finally, raising a crooked eyebrow at the student, "it's come to my attention that you have been hatching a sinister plan to create a manmade catapult for after-school mock battles – which are dangerous in themselves and not encouraged by our staff, but likewise are not forbidden either, considering we have a more organized form of violence at hand for the students in our football matches. _But_, the point _is_, you can_not_ create a tool such as this for your games, as it would be considered a dangerous – and, frankly, marvelously _stupid_ – endeavor."

Only then did the teenager develop a surly sneer, though he attempted to cover it just after realizing it had sneaked out. He added sourly, however quietly, "...Wasn't a _sinister_ plan..."

"You want to crush the other team," the dean pointed out sharply.

Simon blinked again, subverting the urge to roll his own eyes heavenward. "...Only metaphorically--"

"With a metaphoric catapult?" the dean challenged him. "Or the physical one you intended to build?"

"Look, this is all just a big misunderstanding," Simon insisted, a touch of a laugh to his tone as he pleaded his case. "Yes, I had an idea to build a catapult, and yes, I mentioned _in passing_ that it would be useful in our games. But I wasn't _serious_ about using it for _that_. My _true_ intention was to demonstrate my understanding of physics for class!"

The dean narrowed his eyes at the boy, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So this was a project?"

"Yes."

"For class?"

"Yes!"

"And who assigned it?"

"No one did, sir, but we're always being urged to use our initiative..."

The dean paused – but only to rub at his forehead before sighing heavily once more. "...Simon..."

"Besides," the student barreled on passionately, "as I said, it's a misunderstanding – I wasn't doing it for the catapult, this incident had _nothing_ to do with that, in fact."

The dean cocked the eyebrow at him again, silently requesting he continue.

Simon held out his hands in that helpless manner again. "I was merely attempting to make our drab dorms seem more festive and homey for the upcoming holiday season."

"...You were just intending to _decorate_, then?"

"Yes! Is that a crime? I wasn't doing any damage--"

"Simon," the dean reminded him icily, the irritation of trying to rationalize with silliness finally getting the better of him, "you were caught trying to chop down a _tree_ – I think that counts as `damaging school property'!"

"I wasn't damaging it, I was _liberating_ it! It was just sitting there doing nothing--"

"The point of the argument here is not what you intended to _do_ with the tree, but that you don't have the school's permission to take it – the _school_ owns it. This is considered destruction of school property, end of discussion!"

But it wasn't – not for Simon.

"How can you say that!?" he exclaimed, with an overdose of melodrama clearly evident in his voice. He pointed toward the window beside the desk, proclaiming proudly, "That is pure, untouched _Nature_ out there, man! Nature can't be property! It can't be _owned!_ Who gave the school the right to _possess_ a portion of the _Earth!?_"

The dean shrugged carelessly. "The city government, actually."

Simon scoffed openly, waving a hand in disgust. "The city government shouldn't have a say in who owns what when it comes to Nature! Does the land have a say when it comes to humans bartering it off like they can wield its power? The power of Mother _Nature_, man! It's _insane!_ Who said that land ever wanted to be owned in the first place?"

The dean drew in a deep breath, glancing toward the ceiling as he muttered, "_Something_ certainly is insane here, but it's not real estate..." He cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on the boy again, continuing on in his logical tone, "Going by your argument, then, who said that tree ever wanted to be cut down by you?"

But Simon would not be outdone; without hesitation, he blurted out, "The tree did!" As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The dean couldn't even hide his exasperation this time; he hung his head in his hands and groaned, "Oh, for the love of--"

"No, really!" Simon persisted. "I was merely out for a leisurely stroll--"

"With axe in hand, as per usual..."

"--and it cried out to me! `Please, kind sir,' it said, `_please!_ Please extract me from this all too abundant forest so that I may bring joy to those fortunate enough to gaze upon my loveliness after you, kind sir--' That's _me_, of course, don't forget - `--have been so generous as to dress me in the finest, most elegant attire fit for a proper Christmas tree! Please,' it said to me, `take me home and make me beautiful, so that I may bring a smile to a sad one's face during these stressful, tumultuous times, so that I may serve a higher purpose in this world!'"

There was a long moment of silence between the two, in which Simon settled back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest stubbornly, and the dean peered up at him dully – though he still couldn't muster the strength to raise his bowed head.

"...Do you really want that to be your official answer? Because I'll have no trouble at all signing an order for your commitment to one of our most highly regarded, _secure_ psychiatric facilities if you do."

For once, Simon's face faltered a bit. He gnawed his lower lip thoughtfully for a while, then cleared his throat, leaning in to the dean and whispering confidentially, "Maybe that part of the story can be kept between just us."

The dean returned the coy smile with his own belabored one. "I thought so."

Simon:

Oh, the injustice of it all. But, well, one cannot change the ways of the world with one small act of rebellion.

Not that I'd actually been trying to nick the log for a bloody Christmas tree, of course – that had only been my cover story; why else would I have been chopping wood in the middle of winter, but for my ingenious catapult plan? But I couldn't risk having the dean knowing _that_, now, could I?

Still, sacrifices had to be made, and that was one time when I did so rather easily. I wasn't exactly looking _forward_ to my punishment(s), but at least I hadn't gotten expelled.

I wasn't surprised to find Ben in my room when I returned to the dorms, as Matt had probably let him in before leaving himself; actually, I was a bit relieved that he was there, so I could relate my tale of woe to someone else.

"So?" he asked as he slouched on the edge of my bed. "Matt said your, uh, _meeting_ with the dean was today. What was the verdict?"

I sighed dramatically as I closed the door and made a show of kicking off my sneakers. "Ah, guilty. Of course."

"And the sentence?"

I made a face as I slithered out of my coat, wrinkling my nose and sticking my tongue out – oh, so mature was I. "Not too bad, really – two Saturday detentions and mandatory participation in Mr. Mortenson's drama club for the second term. The dean said he'll probably just use me for backstage stuff, y'know, lighting and props and all that shit. Because he's already got the production and cast set, so it's not like he'll be needing another bloody actor – which is fine with me, because apparently my acting skills are quite lacking..."

"What, y'couldn't pull off the Christmas tree story?"

"Oh, no, that went over fine – but it didn't get me off the hook. If it'd really _worked_, he would've been bawlin' along with me and giving me lights to string on it. Anyway, none a' that worries me, really." I paused, arms crossing over themselves unintentionally as I unconsciously gave myself a comforting hug. "_My_ biggest concern is that the sentence also entails a call to me parents."

Ben flinched visibly. "Yow – that's gonna be hard to live down."

I lifted wide eyes to him and nodded. "Aye, I know – me dad'll think it's funny, if he doesn't just call me stupid; but Mum..." I trailed off, shivering sharply.

"Aye," Ben agreed, shivering with me. "I know. I know your Mum."

And he did, too – not just that he knew my mum, but he knew how she _worked_ as well. I actually was not "punished," per se, a whole lot at home: stupid mistakes were rewarded with the standard and expected one- or two-day grounding, or a minor chore that wasn't usually mine.

But for the _real_ wrongs I tried – and failed – to pull off, my punishments were truly unique. I blamed it on my mother's flair for the imaginative – _and_ her honest desire to teach me good and bad. (And if she was trying to teach me "good" and "bad," I knew she meant it – most things were gray areas even _she_ didn't feel right in reprimanding me for; so when she took a stand, it sunk in... even though I still had to carry out the punishments...)

For instance, in order to prove to me that 1) it's always proper to obey your mother, and 2) I _do_, in fact, need an appropriate amount of sleep, whenever she caught me staying up past bedtime playing video games, she had an intricate and annoying plan to take her revenge.

First, because she knew how bad she was at video games, she would force me to stay up even later, showing her how to "master" the game I happened to be playing; then, she would make me play against _her_, and for every game she lost, she promised to inform my brother that he was allowed to give me a noogie with no repercussions for "bullying the baby."

No matter how many times I tried to kill my men off as soon as possible, or let her win, I _always_ spent the following day exhausted, with a sore head – and ended up having the worst hairdays Glasgow had ever seen.

Another time, when I'd just turned fourteen, I'd been smitten with this girl at school, so I thought I'd be all mysterious and romantic by going to her house in the dead of night to toss stones at her window – giving the impression that she'd been on my mind so intensely that I simply couldn't sleep.

Maybe I let a window close too loudly, or maybe my mother had developed an extra motherly sense over the years, since Dad spent many nights shifts at the bowling alley overseeing late-night competitions and left her to play single parent to two unruly boys during those hours (which honestly, at that time, wasn't so dangerous in our small, close-knit and virtually safe neighborhood).

Whatever the reason, Mum caught on pretty quickly that I'd sneaked out around eleven. She easily caught up to me in the car, ordering me to get in. I knew I'd blown it and gave myself up without a fight – but in order to enforce the lesson to sink into my hard head, she had to take it a step – or twelve! - further, so I was quite confused when she drove on past our house. I asked where we were going, and she only said cryptically, in that calm (therefore scary) tone of hers, "You'll see." And then she made one phone call on her mobile, which I could make nothing of from that end, and hung up moments later with a frightening smirk on her face.

Not long after, I was made to stand at the end of one of the lanes in my dad's bowling alley, which was startlingly busy for that time of night – but at fourteen, I didn't realise that half-eleven wasn't _so_ late to many adults. The pins had been taken up, so I was obviously intended to be the target in this game.

But being the world's tallest bowling pin was not the true punishment – besides, neither of my parents had the heart (or lack thereof) to intentionally try to physically _hurt_ me. So that's when Mum called in "the big guns."

The limping, scowling, miserable man whose practice had just been pronounced dead that month, so he obviously was not very happy during that period of time – and he didn't look very happy about being awakened and dragged out of bed just before midnight either. But then, if he'd shown up after all, there obviously had to have been a bonus for the haggard Dr. House to comply with my mother's request to teach me a lesson.

And I found out that bonus. As my parents stood by and watched (with the rest of the bowlers throwing wary, then bemused looks our way) to make sure things didn't get _too_ painful (probably another reason Mum chose a _doctor_, "just in case"), Dr. House proceeded to fling – and I mean, _fling_ – those heavy bowling balls at me, one after another... increasing in speed and severity with every one, barely giving me time to try and dodge one before another was on its way... and I wasn't making out with the "dodging" bit too well either (I was a bit smaller back then, mind).

Luckily, only my ankles, feet and shins got banged up, but it still hurt, leaving me with sore, bruised legs the following few days – too bloody bad Dr. House seemed unable to throw gutter balls, even with the bum leg.

Maybe it was an extreme measure to take, but I had a bit of a laugh – once I got over the humiliation of knowing the entire town would hear by the next morning that I'd done something bad enough to warrant that kind of punishment from such laid-back parents as mine. That was just how badly my mum wanted to get across to me that sneaking out and possibly worrying her silly was not worth the risk.

Besides, my interest in that bird waned when I heard her two days later humming a Kylie Minogue tune...

I'm sorry, you can say what you want about pop sensibility, vocal talent and a long legacy, but that's just unacceptable to me; give me Joan Jett, PJ Harvey – bloody hell, even Anne Wilson – over _that_ candy-ass bollocks any day.

...But, in a nutshell, I was basically shitting myself with how my mother would punish me this time. I had a very strong feeling she wouldn't buy the Christmas tree story – and even if she did, it wouldn't make a difference in how she chose to "reward" my stupidity.

I suppose my dread was fairly evident as I slouched back against the closed door, because the look Ben gave me was sympathetic at first.

"I'd say not to worry, mate – but I know that won't help any."

"Aye," I sighed. "True enough."

But then his face changed – curled into a grinning, cunning mask of something all together different and onto a new topic. "Yeah... Buuuut... I _do_ know of a way to cheer you up," he added mysteriously – dead sober, too, which, I admit, surprised me a little.

I glanced back at him, obviously curious. "Oh really?" And I reached down to the door handle, being sure to slide the lock in place.

Matthew:

By December, though I seemed to have more friends than the previous year, I felt it was pretty accurate to say that I knew them pretty well. Some of them threw me off now and again – most of all Simon, of course, but certain people can never be predicted no matter how many years you've known them – but for the most part, I felt confident that I was familiar with all of them and their various random quirks and oddities.

Dom, of course, had been close to me for a long time, so I'd known him well enough anyway; by then, I knew him almost as well as I knew myself.

And Chris – well, he was just after Dom on my list, so I thought there was nothing that boy could do to startle me.

So when I came across him, as I made my way from the library back to the dorm, sitting on the sidewalk in his big, frumpy coat, with an object which looked frighteningly similar to a _book_ open on his lap, I had to admit, I was confused.

I halted in my trek to stare over at him; he didn't even seem to notice me, his head bowed low – as if actually... _reading_.

I had to know if this was just my over-active imagination running away with itself, so I made a detour from my intended destination and swerved over to him instead. I stood above him for a few moments, my shadow plainly covering his view, but still there was no reaction from him.

Finally, I cleared my throat. "Oi, Chris."

He nearly jumped, his head snapping up fast to see who was intruding on his private time. He caught sight of me through squinted eyes and smiled.

"Oi, Matt."

I nodded toward his lap and hazarded, "What, um... Whatcha doin', mate?"

He glanced down at the book briefly, then back up at me, his smile fading a bit in confusion of his own. "Uh... Readin'."

I blinked at him; he'd actually admitted it? "Ah... W-Wait, _what?"_

He returned the gesture, blinking at me a few times, a blank look on his face, as if he couldn't understand why I was needing a second telling. He held up the book to show me. "Readin'."

I barely saw the thing in front of my face as I tried to piece together logic and sense in my brain – and then I laughed. "Oh, wait – I get it. It's for a class, eh?"

"No. I just, y'know... Felt like readin'."

That stunned me. To the point where I actually looked at the cover this time, seeing the comically-drawn man holding a gun to his smiling head. _The Bus Driver Who Wanted To Be God and other stories_, it read in big letters above the picture. Beneath it was the name "Etgar Keret."

It was an honest-to-God _book_. And, from the looks of it, probably not one on a student's reading list...

My head twitched to the side as he opened the book and continued his activity, as if I hadn't interrupted him in the first place.

I cleared my throat, trying to get his attention again – I _needed_ to clear this up, for my own well-being...

"_Really?"_ I pressed. "You're... You're readin', like, a _book?_"

"It _is_ one of many functions I _am_ capable of, yes," he answered smartly, a rare surly twist to his tone.

"Yeah, but..." I leaned over, trying to see over his shoulder, checking to make sure there were actual words printed on the pages. "A _book?_ Not, like, football scores--"

"It's a book of short stories," he snapped, vaguely irritated by my interference. "Someone recommended it."

I shook my head in wonder, fingers rubbing my temple automatically. "And... And you took it up?"

He paused, then lifted his head slowly to glare up at me. "Uh, _yeah_," he scoffed haughtily, before lowering his gaze again.

I straightened up once I'd gotten over the initial shock of this new discovery, scratching at my head, still a bit perplexed. "Wow... That's... impressive..." And then something else occurred to me to make me laugh out loud, smacking my forehead instead when I recalled Dom's words from our breakfast together a few weeks before. "Oh, wait, _now_ I get it! One of those birds at the rec center suggested it, yeah?"

Chris didn't even break his concentration as he mumbled carelessly, "Huh?"

"Should've known," I chuckled, relieved by my own ingenious calculations. I nudged Chris with my trainer and teased, "Well, she must _really_ have your attention if you're actually reading something she suggested. Must be a bloody knockout, eh?"

He cringed at my crudeness, swatting my foot away blindly as he griped, "What're you talkin' 'bout, mate? Cor, can't I even get a minute to meself--"

But I was quickly distracted by three new figures sauntering out of the dorms, each of them wearing hardly anything more for a coat than loose spring-time jackets – and each of them lugging their own skateboards as they approached Chris and me.

"Oi!" shouted the shortest one, who I immediately recognised as Ed – a bloke even smaller than _me_, for fuck's sake, who hung around Tom and little Chris a lot. "Ready?"

To my surprise, Chris was now bustling to his feet, straightening himself and turning to the others who were approaching us. Other than Ed, there were two of the exchange students – Takeshi, who was half Japanese and half Taiwanese, but spoke better English than many Brits or Americans (in addition to four _other_ languages, the cunt); and Patrick, an American from Salt Lake City, Utah, "the _one_ who isn't Mormon," he always joked.

"Oh, see ya later, mate," he mumbled to me as he started toward them, "I gotta go."

"Oi? Where?"

He turned back to me. "The rec center..."

I smirked again, waving a hand at him. "Ah, of course. Visit your bird. I get it."

But he stopped, giving me that puzzled look again. "Eh? What bird do you keep--"

The other three had reached us by then, and Patrick waved at me briefly before turning to Chris. "Ready to go?" His attention was caught by the book in my mate's hand, and he grinned immediately. "Oh, hey, you got that book?"

Chris fumbled for a moment between trying to talk to me and answer him at the same time, nearly dropping the book in the process. "Oh, uh, yeah..." he stammered, securing the book in his coat's large side pocket. "Found it the other day, actually, just after you mentioned--"

"Oi, Matt," Ed cut in, "y'wanna come with us? You're welcome to, of course."

I glanced hesitantly between the three skateboards they were carrying and winced. "Ah, um, no thanks--"

"Right, right," Ed said, shaking his head as if he'd been stupid to ask. "Prob'ly meetin' up with Dom, right? Well, if y'ever feel like it--"

At the obviously rushed-through excuse he threw out, I felt myself inexplicably bristle, my limbs stiffening up as if preparing for a challenge. "Well... Maybe... But actually, no, skating just isn't my scene..."

Ed shrugged that off carelessly. "So? 'S not Chris' either, apparently, but he still hangs out. But if you've already got plans..."

"Yeah, well," I answered sheepishly, feeling a bit silly now for being offended by the automatic assumption Ed had made – it had been valid, really, since I _did_ spend most of my time with Dom... I offered him a genuine smile and joked, "Gotta keep Simon from building that bloody catapult--"

But Chris immediately interrupted with a taunting, "Don't buy it, Ed, he's meeting Dom, I'm sure."

I gawked at him, startled that he'd seem so bloody nonchalant about his disdain. That previously bristling sensation came up again, and I sneered at him, "Why does everything I do have to involve Dom somehow? Eh?"

"Well," Patrick answered, in a much more friendly and good-natured tone, "because you guys go so well together--"

"More like you can't keep from suckin' face every two minutes," Chris sniped, making a face of disgust at his own words.

"Oi!" I snapped back viciously, now utterly sure that my previous suspicions were accurate – and the thought made me tense up and grab his arm, yanking him back to face me as I demanded fiercely, "You got a problem with me and Dom? Just say it if ya do, _mate_, I'd really love to hear it--"

Chris' smirk evaporated, and he took up the challenge in my eyes as we glared each other down – until Patrick broke in between us, reminding Chris lazily, "There's nothin' wrong with it, y'know--"

"I know _that!_" Chris exclaimed, jerking his arm away from me suddenly to break free of my tight grasp. He waved a hand at me frantically, looking ill. "My problem with it is – well, cor, it's _you_ and _Dom_, Matt! You think I'd watch _either_ of you makin' out with _anyone?_"

That took me aback, and I tilted my head to the side, squinting. "Eh?"

"Bloody hell, man, you could bangin' away on Angelina Jolie for all I care – I don't wanna _see _it! I don't wanna see _either_ of you in that situation!" He calmed down a bit, holding up his hands helplessly. "You're just not my type, is all – plus, I've known you both for-fuckin'-ever: that just doesn't sit well for me. It would feel like watchin' me _parents_ or somethin'..."

He trailed off, then, staring into space – before giving a revolted shudder and shaking himself fully awake again. "Still creeps me out, mate..."

I stared back at him blankly for a long time, and then finally remembered how to add – putting two and two together made six, right? - and felt like kicking myself in the arse for being such a dick. All those weeks Dom and I had spent making googly eyes at each other from different parts of the room, chuckling over inside jokes and nudging each other at the lunch table – all in front of Chris, without even thinking about it...

"_Oh_... So... It's not that you're upset about _us_... bein'..."

Chris rolled his eyes, obviously not concerned – and now that I had a new perspective on it, the situation was embarrassingly clear. "Sure, I don't care – go fuck each others' brains out! Just please don't make me _watch!"_

I felt the relief wash over me like a refreshing rain, and I couldn't help but smile and snicker at his discomfort. "Oh – I thought you were just grossed out by two guys..."

Surprisingly, even the blatant statement being tossed out to him didn't make Chris cringe; he merely shrugged and informed me, "Sorry, Matt, but if I were ever gonna go for a bloke, it'd be someone quite different from you or Dom. I'd need someone a bit _taller_."

I chuckled along with him and the others over that one for a moment – and then realised what he'd said.

"_Oi!"_

Dominic:

So the crazy little psycho was late again for our study date. Big surprise there. I'd begun planning his tardiness into my schedule by then, so it was no shock to me that six o'clock came and went without his arrival in the common room of our dorm floor. I'd already gotten my own work out and ready, had already started on my Literature assignment, and still no Matt.

I was only partway through the physics assignment – which I couldn't get very far on without Matt's help, to be honest – by the time the freak finally came stomping through the room, somehow managing, with that frail little body, to disturb every person he passed on his way to where I was sitting hunched and perplexed on the long couch.

"Bloody hell," I muttered bitterly as I crossed out another wrong answer in my notebook. "Can't I just tell Dr. House that we're gonna get married, so I won't need to know any of this stuff in the future?"

Matt didn't even answer me – he simply threw himself onto the couch beside me and let out a huffy growl.

I eyed him up warily, figuring this probably wasn't the best time to ask if I could just copy his answers once he'd done the homework, seeing the smouldering fury residing on his pouting face...

Though I just couldn't help but smile a bit to myself – I couldn't help it, the bloke just looked so darn cute when he fumed like that.

Finally, when the arms went over the chest like a child, I nudged his arm. "C'mon, what're you so grumpy about?"

He sniffed indignantly and growled, "Just ran into _Chris_," making the one-syllable name positively _slither_ off his tongue.

I raised my eyebrows at this reaction to our old mate. "And?"

"And he was hasslin' me, as usual," he snapped, becoming more and more like that immature child with every response.

"Right," I smirked. "like everyone hassles you, as usual--"

"Naw, man, he really pissed me off this time," Matt whined, turning toward me slightly. "I mean it, he was actually nasty to me!"

Like I was buying that line... "Oh? What'd he do?" Purely to indulge his overblown fantasies, you realise...

"He just..." He scoffed and shook his head, glaring up at the ceiling. "He's just so bloody narrow-minded..."

I had to bite back an outright laugh at that; if Chris was anything but openly accepting of practically anything Matt and I had ever put before him yet... well, bloody hell, then I was fucking _Tinkerbell_.

"_Chris?_ Wait – are you sure we're talkin' 'bout the same bloke here?"

"_Yes,_ Dominic, I mean _Chris_, _our_ Chris."

"Sasquatch?"

"Yes, Sasquatch! Bloody smug prick--"

And with Matt's continued insistence and grumbling, I actually, well... began to _worry_.

"Wait..." The patronising tone disappeared from my voice as I leaned in closer to him and quietly pressed, "Wait, you mean he... He _does_ have a problem with us?"

"_Yes!_" Matt exclaimed – rather loudly – and spun around to me fully. "That's what I've been _saying!_"

I gawked back at him for a moment, studying his perfectly troubled expression with one of my own before the possibility of Chris' issues with us dawned on me as a _reality_.

I sat limply back on the arm of the couch, exhaling heavily. "Well... I have to admit, I didn't expect that from him--"

"He's more bigoted than you thought!" Matt hissed, obviously as upset about this turn of events as I was.

It just didn't fit, not in my mind – Chris had always been our mate, had always backed us up on things, even things he hadn't been too sure of at first. He'd always been eager to please _us_, it seemed, needing our approval on everything from what he was wearing to what he was doing with his spare time. Despite his size, he was really just a big kid who knew he wasn't as "sharp" as Matt or myself, so he trusted us more than he probably trusted himself...

Or, at least, that's what I'd always thought... but then, maybe I'd been the one deluding myself that he – in a purely non-physical way, of course – looked up to _us_.

I felt like I was deflating, then – not just that this bloke suddenly had grown his own spine, made his own opinions, whatever, but that he'd actually start hassling Matt about how we lived _our_ lives...

I glanced over at Matt again, furrowing my brow as I asked hopefully, "So he's really upset about us being together?"

"No – he doesn't care about that."

...

I tilted forward, squinting at him fiercely. "Uh... _huh?_"

"I said, he doesn't care about that," he repeated, enunciating his words more clearly.

I shook my head, feeling the dizziness start up... and after such an apparent let-down as Chris turning on us, which had made my stomach drop, this new symptom caused me to close my eyes tightly – as I tried to remind myself whom I was speaking with.

"So... he _doesn't_ have a problem with us?"

"Of course he does!"

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, still not looking at him. "Wait... You just said--"

"Evil prick, so smug and so... bloody... _tall_..."

My head fell forward; I caught it in my hands and blurted, "_What!?"_

Matt hardly heard me – and if he did, he certainly made no move to signal that he could tell how confused I was.

"Oh, he thinks he's so much better than us just 'cause he broke the Sasquatch barrier – bloody bastard--"

I finally forced my eyes open, glaring hard at him as I planted my hands on his shoulders and shook – very hard. "Matt, what the _fuck_ are you ranting about!?"

He stared back at me, completely oblivious to my pain. "_Chris!_"

"What _about_ him!?" I moaned in agony – it was like conversing with a bloody roller coaster sometimes with him, I should've gotten medals for all the bollocks I had to put up with... "Does he have a grudge against us now or something?"

"He always has! He hides it well, but he's actually very cruel--"

"You're being ridiculous!" I finally decided, letting him go and slumping back against the couch arm again; I was finished, I'd had enough of his antics. Whatever misunderstanding he'd gotten into his head this time, I was not going to buy into it.

I just didn't have enough nausea medicine for it...

"Chris doesn't hate us--"

"Yeah, but he'd never _go_ for us either, apparently."

He said it with such indignation, such haughtiness, that I finally understood that this was what he was so upset about – and that realisation made me stop, _sloooowly_ turn my head to him, and glower at him evilly.

"_What?"_

He didn't catch the death threat in my voice, because he continued on in that falsely merry tone, "Oh, haven't you heard the latest headline? We're not fit for _him_."

"_Chris?_ Did _he_ say that? Wait – _why_ would he say th--"

"Because we don't fit the criteria, apparently!"

"What criteria? Being guys?"

He whirled on me, fire in his eyes and irritation on his face – as if _he_ had the right to be irritated!

"No! You dolt! Pay attention, will you!?"

I wiped a hand over my face, groaning pathetically, "I'm trying but as usual, you insist on making no sense--"

"We're too _short_ for him, Dom!"

"..."

He glanced from one blankly staring eyeball to the other, then made a face of disdain at me. "What!?"

I sighed and let my head droop again. "Oh, for the love of God."

"Doesn't that piss you off!? Being marginalised for such an uncontrollable trait—"

"Matt..."

"_What!?"_

What can I say? I was simply relieved to discover that the hatred I feared Chris had for us... had never really existed. So when I laughed – literally, in Matt's face – it was understandable that he would look insulted by my reaction to _his_ dilemma.

I took a swipe at his face and, not nearly as sensitive about this whole height issue, suggested sarcastically, "Go... Go write a song about it."

The insanity flaring behind his eyes, he slapped his hand against the back of the couch and informed me, "Okay! Fine then! I will! Wait – I need a guitar – shit, mine's got two broken strings..."

I shook my head again, musing, "How did you break – nevermind, I think I can picture it on my own."

He was already struggling to get to his feet, his mind racing ahead of his mouth. "Who else's gotta guitar? Shit – Tricky's already left with Chris..."

I sighed wearily, reminding him, "Well, _duh_, who else, Mister Brainstorm? Certainly not that hairy chap you _live_ with or anything – y'know, the _guitarist_--"

He slapped his hands together as if he'd been the one to think of it. "Right! Simon! He's still around, eh? I'll just go nick his for a bit, he won't mind if it's the acoustic--"

As I finally noticed that Matt had reached his manic state, I felt obligated to get up off my arse and follow the frantic weirdo to make sure he didn't do anything _too_ moronic. I walked after his fidgeting, twitchy footsteps and tried to explain, "Y'know, I was really just joking about the song thing – just saying it to be funny, like, to get you off _my_ back with your lunatic ranting..."

But Matt turned back to me with a wide grin on his face, insisting passionately, "No! You just wait, I'll write a protest song so bloody powerful and catchy, midgets everywhere will be singing it around campfires for generations to come – what the fuck," he muttered, put off a bit by the fact that, upon reaching his door, he seemed to be unable to open it. "Why's he locked the bloody door? Fuck it – no, listen, Dom! Our spawn, Dom," he continued as he patted his pockets for his keys and fumbled to unlock the door, "_our_ spawn will pass it down to their vertically challenged children--"

I snickered at that, pointing out, "Well, if you see our future together turning out like that, you're either mentally damaged or have high hopes for reproductive science."

He didn't miss a beat that time – he snapped his fingers in my face and nodded, "Yes, millions, we'll have _millions_ of _little_ BellDom babies, and they'll teach their children, and theirs, and theirs, and so on, and so on – until this whole bloody six-foot-tall _world_ will come crashing back down to the average five-foot status quOHmy God..."

As Matt finally got the door to his bedroom open and stalked inside, he stopped abruptly – causing me to smack right into his back, cracking my nose on the back of his head – and trailed off with that rather ominous utterance...

"Ow, fuck! Matt! Why'd you--" I stifled my own pain and lifted my head, still holding my nose, and immediately was presented with the exact same thing that I knew Matt had gone all weirdo-awkward-stunned over... "--uhhh.... _oh_ dear..."

The sight before us was... well... staggering, to say the least. In one sense, it appealed to my own personal taste; but in another, it was just all oh-so-terrifyingly _wrong_.

Ben, his naked back to us, kneeling on Simon's bed, facing the wall – with the intended occupant _of_ that bed between the two. Legs splayed and wrapped round Ben's waist, arms round broad, muscular shoulders, and a perfectly surprised, damp face peering back at us with wide, stunned eyes.

Ben, meanwhile, had buried his face in his – _ahem_ – partner's shoulder, and was muttering incoherently, but I imagined his barely audible litany to be full of blinding curses and death threats.

Simon, on the other hand, merely gulped, apparently breathless (and presumably not just from the shock of our interruption, but from the preceding activities...), and said rather calmly to Matt, "Uh... S-Somethin' y'need, mate?"

Matt, however, could barely recall verbal language as he openly gaped at the scene, stammering stupidly. "Uh... I just... um..."

I rolled my eyes upward – partly out of exasperation, but partly also to avoid having to look... not that it was all _that_ terrible to see, mind... "Oh, fuck--"

"Apparently," Matt quipped, obviously rediscovering language – but not _tact_.

Ben displayed his own opinion of Matt's crude comment by groaning loudly; then again, perhaps Simon had done something Matt and I couldn't see to provoke such a reaction, but we would never know...

"Matt?" Simon urged, understandably eager to get the boy moving – most likely in the preferable _out_ direction...

"Uh... Uh..."

I finally decided I needed to step in to get one of us moving again, so I grabbed Matt's arm and tugged. "Uh, sorry," I told the other two, "we'll just be g—Matt!"

The sneaky little fucker had squirmed out of my grasp, stepping closer to the bed. "H-Hang on--"

"Would you come _on!_" I hissed, inching toward the door without him.

Simon raised his eyebrows at Matt's daring, but only asked, "You needed something?" As cool and collected as ever, as if he hadn't just been walked in on by two gawking doofuses during a very plainly lewd and hungry fuck.

Matt gulped and managed, "Um... G-Guitar..."

Simon nodded vaguely, adding breathlessly, "Sure... Help yours--" He suddenly stopped, wincing as Ben shifted ever so slightly, causing Simon to gasp sharply. "--self.."

Matt hesitated, eyes darting around Simon's half of the room. "Um... W-Where..."

Simon lifted a hand from Ben's shoulder and lazily pointed to – oh good God – the foot of the bed.

Matt cringed. "Ah, right... Um..." He eyed up their position on the bed, silently measured the distance to his own destination, then swallowed hard again. Finally, he dove for it; a moment later, he resurfaced, guitar in hand, and waved at Simon, attempting to come across as nonchalant as Simon had when he'd walked in on us – but failing miserably.

"Uh, th-thanks, mate..."

"No problem." And even when he was the recipient (pun intended) of the interruption, Simon was as easy-going as ever. He even waved at Matt cordially as he crossed in front of them. "No bother at all."

Ben let out a small growl, challenging him, "Oh, really?"

"Sorry," I repeated, feeling all too aware of Ben's discomfort, "we're leavin' now, right, Matt? Matt--"

To my (and their) dismay, Matt paused just as he reached me, turning back with a raised hand. "Ah – hang on, er, one... one more thing..."

Simon sighed heavily, this time seeming like Matt was actually trying his patience. "Aye?"

Matt dared to step closer to the bed, eying them up with much more care than I could ever imagine doing in that sort of situation. He leaned forward a bit, as if confiding in his roommate, and asked curiously, gesturing with his finger, "Is that, um... comfortable?"

For once, Matt had stumped the guy. Simon gaped absurdly back at him, dumbfounded for a few moments, before finding his voice again and chuckling lightly, "Uh... At the moment, not particularly..."

Ben's head twitched on Simon's shoulder as he demanded, "Eh?"

Simon ignored him and continued to Matt, "But once you're gone, I suspect it'll get there."

Matt nodded slowly, a grin spreading on his face. "Ah... Okay... Yeah, I'll just be, uh... goin' then..."

"Aye, thanks," Simon smiled – that exaggerated, sweet smile that really meant he was probably going to plot for the next month to create the perfect way to return this favour...

And just as I thought Matt was finally going to give up and follow me out the door, he stopped _again_, causing me to whirl around and growl fiercely at him, "Matthew James--"

"Just one more thing!"

In an overly patient voice, Simon called over Ben's shoulder, "Yes, Matt? Anything you need, dear?"

Matt glanced back at him, smirking coyly. "I guess this means we're even, then?"

The deceivingly kind smile on Simon's face grew wider, and the glint in his eyes everyone always talked about shone brightly as he assured him, "Oh – not by a long shot, mate."

Matt's smirk faded a bit, and he shuddered slightly. "Oh... Right... Uh... guess we'll leave ya to it, then..."

"_Please_," Ben groaned.

Simon glanced at Ben briefly before looking back at us and whispering hoarsely, "Ehm... He's shy..." He nodded again and patted Ben's back affectionately, as if assuring us he would take care of the embarrassed bloke.

Ben, however, only growled wordlessly in return for the acknowledgment.

Obviously this frightened Matt as much as it did me; he went white as a sheet and practically pushed _me_ out the door. "Yeah, uh, bye," he called, and slammed the door shut behind us.

Simon:

I sighed and let my head fall back against the wall behind me, staring up at the ceiling with a sinking feeling of resigned acceptance.

"Ah... well... it was a nice attempt," I chuckled. "Guess that's ruined it for today, huh? So, you give up?"

Ben lifted his head sharply, an absurd look of disbelief on his face. "Fuck no!"

I would have blinked in surprise, would have raised my eyebrows and said, "Oh? Really?" I would have tried to show some kind of expression of being impressed with his recovery capabilities...

But, well, he didn't give me a chance. Not that I'm complaining. Ben's quite serious when he says he's ready.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Lesson 9: How To Create A Problem

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 language, slashy bits (not very graphic), little fluff, little angst. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: Not owner or knower. 

Matthew:

Going home for the holidays was... surreal, to say the least. I'd experienced the same thing the year before, looking at my hometown with something like a new set of eyes. Like returning after being abducted by aliens – not that I'd ever been through that, of course (despite what I _wanted_ to believe). The first few days were often spent wandering around in a daze, staring at random things that had been in their places for years, though I'd just taken notice of them being there. I could've sworn a certain tree had been in a different block, or colors looking more vivid than I'd remembered them. It was off-putting at first, but eventually came down to just being utterly fascinating.

That year was particularly disjointed, however, because by then, I'd grown so accustomed to things being a certain (chaotic) way, and by Christmastime, that routine had shifted significantly. Of course, Dom and Chris were not far away, so I could cope with their vague absences rather well – by ringing them up and having them visit. I was surprised, then, by how sneakily my new roommate had supplanted his presence into my life – just by existing, just by being himself in all his weird glory (and that's coming from _me_), I'd become _used_ to him. Waking up without him only a few feet away, not being able to guide him in the direction of his razor in the morning – it threw me off. And it wasn't like I could pick up the phone and ask him to come over to set me straight again...

Well, by the fifth day, I was willing to give it a go anyway. I didn't even consider the thought that he wouldn't be awake by ten, just dug around in my school supplies (which had been dumped on my bedroom desk and forgotten about since my arrival) until I found the notebook where I'd made him scribble out his address and phone number.

So I hadn't considered the very strong possibility that he'd still be asleep – but I also hadn't considered that he'd be the one to pick up either.

"Hello, you've reached the secret residence of Britain's one and only royal samurai family – serving a cold dish of revenge to those foolish enough to cross us. This is Vladimir speaking, how may I disembowel you?"

I paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of my nose as I heard a female voice – with the same accent, of course – in the background scolding, "Would you stop saying that already!? If the prince calls, he may believe you!"

I smirked and asked, "Do you always answer the phone that way? Or did you know it was me?"

"`Me'? Who's `me'? Ow! Stop hitting me, woman! Go back to your cage! Child abuse! Oi, caller number five, hang up and call child services, for Christsake, _now!_"

"Me, Matt."

"Oh! Oi, Matt, what the fuck're you callin' me at ten AM for!? You're on break, man, shouldn't you still be dead to the world?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"Aye, but the slave-driver has me up doin' dishes with her. Tell 'er a growin' boy needs his rest, please! She won't listen to me."

Then his mother's voice was right next to my ear, still scolding her son, "If you're fit enough to stay up all night playing bloody video games with your brother, you can stand to dry a dish! What're you – _OI!_ Get back here, you lazy little--" Suddenly the sharply testy yet jovial tone switched to the familiar, lilting sweetness I'd heard several times over the past half-year: "Hello, Matthew! And how are your holidays so far?"

"Fine," I chuckled. "Did he run out on you?"

"Oh, don't worry, dear – I have plans for that one, I do. He'll make it up to me. So, have you been a good boy for Santa this year?"

"I hope so – I've tried me best."

"Of course you have – from what I hear, you're pushing to get pure gold in your stocking. Unlike the solid _coal_ I've had to dig up from the depths of our former furnace for your roommate – I don't suppose you could infect him with some of that charming goodness he says you have, could you?"

"What've you heard? Oh no – what's he told you?"

"Oh, don't fret, dear – my boy's only got the best things to say about you. And if even Simon can't come up with a convincing enough story proclaiming the opposite, it must be true. You love your mother, don't you? You obey her and revere her above all others, yes?"

"Of course, with all me heart."

"Then nothing else really matters, now, does it? Hold on one second dear--" A slight rustle, but not even her hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver could muffle her powerful shout, a half-teasing, half-annoyed tone echoing shrilly over the line: "SIMON ALEXANDER, COME BACK HERE AND TALK TO MATTHEW NOW OR YOU'LL BE REATTACHING YOUR INTESTINES BY YOURSELF TONIGHT!!... And after this, it's the tree – don't you _dare_ help him, David, he's to do it _alone!_ Don't you give me that look, young man, I gave birth to you, I can end it just as swiftly!"

Another rustle, and I was able to replace the receiver to my ear again as she went on in that birdlike chirp, "Here you are, dear, I've got him back for you. Have a lovely Christmas."

"Uh, you too, ma'am..."

A moment later, as I heard background noises of a door closing, Simon's unmistakable croon was reaching me again: "Y'know, I think me mum likes you."

"Really? I think she's got your name at the top of her shitlist."

"Gee, _y'think!?_ Oi, y'know what she's got me doin' now? For the whole tree-cutting thing?"

"What's that? Dedicating your life to environmental protection?"

"I wish! At least that'd be sensible! No, she's got me waterin' this bloody wee Christmas tree thing she bought – has it out in the bloody yard 'n aw."

"And that's what you're doing now?"

"Aye, sends me out in freezing weather to put water on the thing – it's just gonna freeze up, I tell 'er, but she won't hear none of it. Anytime she gets tired of me or thinks I need remindin' of my place, she sends me out to tend to it. So everyone around can see me carin' for this bloody little shite abomination."

"That sounds like a proper punishment, actually... Though, in the middle of winter, I dunno..."

"It's a _tinsel_ tree, Matt! Y'get it? It's _FAKE!_ Like, aluminum or somethin'! And she makes me _water_ it! It's _silver!_ This ugly fucker's brand name should be `TACKY'! It's horrible. The whole neighbourhood saw me plantin' the stupid thing already when she made me take it out the box and put it in the ground. Like they don't think I'm nuts enough as it is..."

"Well," I reasoned between my giggles, "if it's got, like, branches and the tinsel is actually made to look like pine needles, if you squint, you might be able to fool yourself--"

I could practically _hear_ his shoulders slouch in exasperation. "There's a bloody smiley face on the top, Matt. Comin' right out the top of the fuckin' faux branch. Great big plastic face grinnin' away at me while I freeze the thing to death with water. Believe me, there is _no_ fuckin' _way_ this thing fools anyone."

"Oh, like you ever cared what anyone else thinks," I pointed out. "Does it really bother you what your neighbors think? Even if it's that they think you belong in an asylum?"

"I think that's what she's told 'em! That I'm gone most a' the year 'cause I'm in a psych hospital! Bloody evil woman... Oh, uh, hey, Mrs. Anderson. Aye, just waterin' the tree again. Aye, 'n cursin' out me mum, aye. Thank you, Mrs. Anderson, I sure will. Cheers." A derisive scoff, then a muttered, "See? Even me next-door neighbour's laughin' at me! They're all against me, Matt, they _all_ are..."

"Careful, Si – you're starting to sound like _me_."

"Damnit! Look what you've all turned me into! A bloody book-obsessed paranoid gayboy!"

"Oi!" I barked defensively. "Take that back!"

"Okay, okay, sorry – a _guitar-_obsessed paranoid gayboy."

"That's more like it."

So, after another ten minutes or so of pointless banter with my missing friend, I felt more like myself again. That solved it for me then: every morning needed to be started with some good old-fashioned, classic Simon insanity. Then my holidays would be complete.

Except my father got the phone bill not a week later, and I had to cut my Neil intake to twice a week. But it was all right by then – I'd re-acclimated myself to the point where it wasn't necessary to bother his household at stalker level. Besides, as break came nearer and nearer to an end, it would've been less uplifting to ring him up, however ignorant I was of this fact back then. Luckily, I had Dom and Chris to fill in the blanks the rest of the time.

Like when I left the house one cold, crisp afternoon to take a stroll down to see what Chris was up to. When I reached his block, I could see the mammoth's furry head over the snow-covered hedges from several metres away, bobbing up and down before disappearing suddenly, then jumping back into vision once more. The closer I got, the easier it became to connect his movements with a constant _clackety-clack_ sound which reverberated off the other houses on the peaceful winter-scenic street. His head glided smoothly for a metre or two whilst an awful scraping sound ripped through the quiet, and then – _clackety-clack-SLAM!_ - his head disappeared from sight.

I was already smirking by the time I rounded the corner of the hedges to find him attempting to balance like an acrobat in a circus on a thick piece of wood – painted quite fancy, it seemed – attached to four poor wheels, which groaned from his weight.

"Oi, Chris," I greeted him as I made my way across the snow-covered lawn to his parents' icy driveway, where he was obviously trying to master this strange new concoction called a "skateboard."

He glanced up at me, a sheepish grin hiding on his face, and self-consciously pushed a few stray locks of long curly hair behind an ear. "Oi. What's up?" He gave a bit of a kickstart on the board, wobbled a little, then slid a few metres down the already slick drive before tumbling off, catching himself just short of hitting the ground to find his balance.

"Um... New toy?" I asked, shoving my numb fingers into my coat pockets as I quietly marveled at the fact that he was only dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans – but then, with the perspiration shining on his brow and the heavy breathing I heard as he sauntered back to where I stood, I surmised easily that he'd been at this for a while.

"Couldn't think of anythin' else I wanted for Christmas," he admitted softly, avoiding my gaze as if he knew I was ready with a barrel of jokes to hurl at him over this new activity.

But I was in a good mood, so I decided to be merciful. "Found a sport you weren't a master at, so you thought you'd take up the challenge?"

Much nicer than saying, _Trying to act cool like Tricky and Ed now, are ya? Y'know, you're way too big of a clumsy oaf to ever get the hang of it, don't you?_

Good thing I chose the wording I did, because instead of a surly sneer and a viciously thrown plank of wood lodging itself into my cranium, Chris just smiled again in that sweetly shy way that gave the very true impression of what a softie he really was. He shrugged awkwardly and, attention directed firmly on the board at his feet, said simply, "It looked like fun. Seein' Pat 'n Ed do it all term... I was curious."

I nodded and leaned back against the garage door, gesturing to him. "Go on, then, don't let me stop you."

He huffed a few times, one foot on the board and the other on solid ground, preparing himself for the – let's face it – inevitable coming crash. Then he pushed off down the drive, arms flailing wildly to gain some kind of balance – but the icy cement was against him, and the board slid right out from under his massive feet, shooting straight down to the road without its intended occupant. And poor Chris landed flat on his arse on the drive, looking perfectly startled that it hadn't gone according to plan.

I stifled a hearty laugh at his expense, and shakily asked, "Erm, awright, mate?"

He got back to his full height with a laugh, brushing some errant bits of ice and gravel from his bum. "Eh... Fine, yeah. Just, um..."

"Y'know," I suggested helpfully, "maybe it'd be better to wait 'till the ice melts."

He glanced back at me, eyes squinted, as if unsure whether I was taking the piss or not.

I quickly doubled-back on my intentions and reiterated, "Well, since you're a beginner – I'm sure even experts have trouble in winter."

He smirked at my hint and nodded, jogging after his present to save it from the potential evils of passing cars. "Guess you're right," he agreed as he came back with his toy scooped up into his arms. "Arse is sore enough as it is."

I raised my eyebrows at him mysteriously. "Oooh, what's this? What've you been up to with your free time, Christopher?"

He chuckled when he realised his poor choice of words, correcting me, "Nah – just this. I fall over a lot... Guess bein' a big bloke ain't such a good trait when it comes to this sorta thing."

"Well," I reasoned, "you'll get the hang of it. Tricky's about six feet or so, ain't he? That's not a tiny bloke, 'n he seems pretty, um... what's the word? Agile?"

Chris was already shaking his head, staring out at the empty street as he caught his breath. "Nah – Pat's been doin' this for years. He's way more skilled than I'll ever be. Besides, he may be six foot, but he's a pretty skinny guy overall. You get fooled by shoulders – they might be broad, like mine, but it's an illusion. He's actually rather scrawny."

I let a corner of my mouth twitch upwards as I glanced over at him – and he kept going: "Compared to him, I'm... well, Sasquatch. Height don't matter. Plus he's got the moves – comes from years of dance lessons. Sounds weird, I know, but I guess ballet can really make you hone in on things like balance and grace – things that're important to activities like boarding..."

Chris finally trailed off when he caught sight of my half-formed, sadistic smile, and immediately – as I thought he would – he turned cautious.

"What?"

I cleared my throat and looked away, though I didn't bother trying to cover up my wicked smirk this time. "Nothin'. Just sounds like you've been getting to know the exchange students pretty well..."

He shrugged haltingly, dropping the board to the ground to practice the clever bounce maneuver others had made look so easy before. Apparently, it wasn't as simple as they displayed – or else Chris was really _that_ bad at it, missing the thing three bloody times in a row.

"We're in the same class," he rambled as he played. "Well, Pat 'n me, I mean. We talk a lot. He loaned me some Adam Sandler CD's. He plays guitar too, y'know. He's really good, like you 'n Simon. Maybe you guys could jam sometime..."

I pressed my lips together tightly – smothering a fit of giggles in the process – and just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything aloud.

"But, y'know... What do I know?" Chris chuckled, clearly self-deprecating – even as he successfully caught the bounced board in one giant hand. He allowed himself a split-second of a proud smile – then cleared his throat, wiping it away quickly as he bowed his head and dropped the board again. "I ain't a real _good_ musician. Like you 'n Dom. Maybe he can play `Happy Birthday' and it's a miracle to me. But I like to listen, anyway. Even if I dunno shit."

Strangely compelled by this new side to my mate I hadn't been aware of until then, this awkward and uncertain boy who seemed to want to laugh at his own shortcomings, I furrowed my brow at him, tilting my head to the side.

"What you on about?" I demanded, sounding as puzzled as I felt. "What's this, then?"

"What's what?" he asked, though it came out more like a rhetorical question, a blank look to his face.

I eyed him up cautiously, trying to find some kind of sarcasm or haughtiness to him – but I couldn't detect any. No, this Chris in front of me was the real thing – just a bit less eager, though more anxious, than I remembered him.

"You sure are rough on yourself," I noted, trying my hardest not to sound patronising.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I suppose it's just the way of nature – when you're surrounded by amazing people, someone's gotta be the norm to compare 'em to, eh?" He laughed outright, but even the forced smile couldn't cover his regret: "Never though I'd feel _weird_ being called the _normal_ one... No, it doesn't really bug me that much... except..." He sighed, shoulders slouching and eyes misting over – not with tears, but with something like... longing.

"Except, when you're the normal one – or the _boring_ one – no one's really impressed by you, are they? Especially not the extraordinary people. So why would someone extraordinary ever want to be with someone... well... _ordinary?_"

I stared at him, long and hard. I had no clue where this had all come from, or why – or how we'd even gotten on the topic. But whatever had spurred it on certainly had my old mate tied up in knots. And that wasn't even touching the subject of how he'd suddenly – within one term – gone from same old Chris, to... someone who seemed quite insecure. Not that he'd ever been drenched in masculinity or attitude, but he'd never come off sounding quite so self-loathing either.

"Oi... Did... Did someone say something to you at school?" I asked, my concern more than evident now in voice and expression. "What's with all this stuff about bein' boring--"

"Look, it's okay, Matt," he assured me, even if I couldn't believe the weak smile he gave me. "I know I'll never come close to you or Dom, and that's all right. I guess I'm just... wishin' I could be a bit more than I am."

"Well, you're certainly more than I ever treated you," I admitted with a scoff. "I turn my back for one term and you go off readin' books, tryin' to skateboard; hell, you've_ always_ been better at makin' friends than me and Dom put together..."

"But most people don't remember you for how nice you are," he snickered. "Guess I just..." Chris stopped abruptly, catching the board with one hand again; then, inhaling deeply, he slid into a crouch nearer to the ground, hugging the board to his chest as he gazed out longingly toward the street. "Guess I just wish I had somethin' special that would make... um... make certain people remember me. Y'know? Like, to make 'em... wanna..." He sighed heavily, pressing his forehead against the wood. "I dunno. Guess I'm just wantin' something I can't have. And at the moment, it's gettin' to me."

I hesitantly reached out with a foot and nudged his leg. "And you want... to be special?"

"Well, yeah – but only so I can... get at... maybe a chance... Oh, hell, I dunno," he finally blurted with that helpless grin as he peered up at me. "I'm talkin' as crazy as you now, ain't I?"

I raised my eyebrows at that, deciding not to feel too insulted – he had, after all, just praised me for _being_ that way.

"So what is it that you want, that you think you can't have?" I asked gently, careful not to look him in the eye – I didn't want to frighten the timid beast, after all.

Luckily, he didn't go scampering off in fear; instead, he stared hard at the ground and murmured softly, "It's more like... wantin' to be _with_ someone..."

Ohhh boy... After his previous words about the people surrounding him, and his obvious yearning to be more than he thought he was, I felt like kicking myself for not figuring it out sooner. Not only that, but I'd figured it out a while _before_ then, and it _still_ failed to _re_-occur to me until that second: Chris was – _obviously –_ madly and deeply in love with someone.

And... dear God... going by his impassioned speech about extraordinary people – could it have been...? No, it couldn't have... He'd already struck me and Dom down for our heights – but no, he'd also already proved that he could change without my immediate recognition, so who knew what _else_ he would change his mind about?

Feeling both uncomfortable and triumphant at the same time, I had to hold myself back from kicking the bloke in the side. I rerouted that burst of energy, then, to my brain rather than my limbs, and decided that, whatever the reason he felt so inferior, and whoever the person he was infatuated with, he certainly deserved a bit of encouragement...

Hoping, of course, that I wasn't about to be urging him on toward taking a closer step to Dom or myself...

I planted a – manly, tough (I thought) – hand on his shoulder and assured him, "Oi, mate, you feel glum right now 'cause you're heartsick over... this person... so your perspective may be a bit skewed. But let me tell ya – _you_, Chris, are one of the most respectable, honest, solid, stand-up guys I've ever known. And if she doesn't see that as special about you... then she's just fuckin' blind. 'Cause I think that's pretty damn special. You think you ain't got nothin' to offer, just 'cause you're not me or Dom? Mate, you ask her – ask her straight out, don't be afraid – I promise you, she'll give you an answer you hadn't thought of. See? 'Cause we all value things in other people in our own way. So she prob'ly sees things me 'n Dom – and apparently you yourself – _can't_ see. And hey, makin' her say it will _make_ her remember you, eh? There's a clever trick for ya, right?"

He peered up at me, looking strangely baffled again. "Who're you talkin' 'bout, man?" he blurted thoughtlessly.

I stared back dumbly, blinking. "Um... The person... you said... y'know... y'wanna be with?"

It was his turn to blink, as if finally remembering the topic of our conversation. "Right... Uh, yeah... Yeah – good idea..."

I nodded, more to myself than to him, and decided my work there was done. I patted him on the shoulder again, telling him in a manly (I thought) voice, "Always glad to help, son..."

And then, trying not to rush away too quickly – for fear of him catching on to my paranoia about his potential interest in me or Dom – I skidded my way carefully down the driveway to the sidewalk.

Once out of his view, I bolted for Dom's house.

Dominic:

So Matt was in another one of his hysterical fits again. I was sure by then that the boy was at _least_ on the _verge_ of schizophrenia. The way he paced my bedroom, hands constantly raking through the black mop on his head, while I lounged lazily on top of my duvet, gave the impression of a loon on crack trying to converse with a therapist who'd just OD'd on barbiturates.

"He's all balled up about _someone_," he was ranting, "and it's actually starting to affect how he sees himself. And you know how he sees himself? As some nice _boring_ bloke with nothing special about him. Can you believe that!? _Our_ Chris? _Boring?_ This is the same guy who once showed up at your parents' Christmas party with three bottles of Yeager, plopped down next to your granny on the couch, and said, `Awright, boys, time to get our drunk on' – just before smiling that leery smile at your _gran_ and callin' 'er `lass'!"

I chuckled fondly at the memory. "Much as I hate to think of Gran that way, I think it was the first time in decades she had to go change her knickers for somethin' other than incontinence. He certainly has always managed to be charming even when he's being crude."

"See? _See??_" Matt was working his hand-flailing on overdrive that day. "I'd say _that's_ certainly something extra special about him. And he thinks he's a nobody!"

"Well, as a seventeen-year-old, I really don't think he counts exciting lonely, widowed old ladies as a unique skill."

"But he can get away with it, don't you see!? You or I tried that, we'd get a smack and sent to our rooms. Chris always seemed older somehow – maybe it's his size, or maybe it's just his attitude – but he always could get away with that stuff! Your dad was givin' 'im drinks when he was thirteen, fourteen years old, for fuck's sake! I come over _now_ and your dad's _still_ askin' if me balls've dropped yet!"

I crooked an eyebrow at him, suggesting lewdly, "Shall I assure him that they have – and are quite tasty, too?"

He paused briefly to skewer me with his glare. "That's just disgusting!"

I shrugged. "You seemed to like it--"

"Well, yeah, _I_ did, but you think your dad wants to hear that?"

"At least he'll know I'm getting laid – he seems dangerously preoccupied with that these days. Keeps askin' if I've met a pretty girl in town yet."

Matt smirked, resuming his pacing. "Prob'ly terrified of facing the truth, that his only son's queer..." He trailed off, then, casting me an odd look from the corner of my bed.

"What?" I hazarded warily, not liking the look in his eyes.

"You're never gonna tell them, are you?"

Well, fuck me blind with a crucifix. As if I hadn't imagined this scenario playing out in my head a million times by then. And I _still_ had no fucking answer.

All I could do was cover my face with my pillow and mumble incoherently, until I felt a weight on top of me and the force of Matt's hand pulling away my shield.

When he finally got my face uncovered, he tossed the pillow aside and planted his elbows on either side of my head, peering down at me as I giggled – but when I opened my eyes to look back up at him, his expression was deadly serious. So my laughter abated, and I drew in a deep breath.

"I don't know," I answered after some time, without needing him to repeat the question. "It's all too early, Matt--"

"Bollocks," he spat out easily, a snarl flitting over his mouth for a moment. "People years younger than us have come out to their parents, you know. Some blokes know when they're _sixteen_ that they'd rather be girls. You're the one who pursued _me_, Howard – you gonna stand up for that brave move or what?"

I realised then that he was straddling my hips, so I sneakily shifted myself until I was pressing my covered – and only half-hard – cock between his spread legs. When he gasped and tried to pull back, knowing he would quite easily be led off-track from this harsh line of questioning if I got him horny, I grabbed his arms and kept him still on top of me. I felt him go rigid, his chin lifting to look away from my own penetrating gaze as I held him in a stalemate.

"And what about you?" I challenged, lifting my head slightly and letting my tongue slither out to lick the side of his throat. He sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, but gave no other sign of his approval. "You told Mummy dearest yet? Or Daddy Bells? Hm?"

The ensuing silence from both of us gave us our answers – and although we then proceeded to have a rather lovely little make-out session, it still wasn't able to evaporate the lingering heaviness between us. A heaviness that stayed with me hours after I reached down his trousers and made him cum, hours after he left my room with that sullen, withdrawn face I hated seeing on him.

The rest of that night, all I could think was, _Bloody hell. Merry fucking Christmas._


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Lesson Ten: How To Drag Them All Down (Part One)

Rating/Warnings: language, slashy innuendo, angst. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: This is aaaaaall fiction. (C'mon, d'ya really think Dr. House would give a crap about these kids??)

A/N: Dunno why, but I had the Biffy Clyro song _Breatheher_ in my head whilst writing this part. Perhaps that could count for some of the sappiness in it. Beautiful song. Sorry also for the mopiness of it; guess listening to Mazzy Star's been having an effect after all...

And don't worry, Part Two will feature Matt & Dom again, I promise.... just had to get this scene outta me head. Hope y'don't mind too much....

Dr. House:

Every year, without fail, the boys would return from winter holidays a little less coherent than they'd left; for a few days, teachers had to act more like nursemaids, helping them back into the school routine. That year was no different – everyone returned looking shell-shocked that they were back. This was to be expected. But only one student's behaviour shift bothered me.

There was a distinct difference between the Simon who was more than anxious to get home for the Christmas holidays and the Simon who returned to school a few weeks later. I wasn't sure what to make of it at the time, whether to be concerned or relieved, and I really resented the brat for making me pay such close attention to him during that time, when all I really wanted to do was enjoy my own time off and stay away from the school entirely.

But even during that break, my mind kept getting distracted; Jim and I visited my relatives together, and he seemed to fit in more with them than I did – not that I'd ever been one for loving family functions anyway. But that year, there was an actual reason behind my lackluster attitude and barely uttering a word to my own parents; I simply couldn't stop thinking about Simon and his tedious situation, wondering how things were in Glasgow with his family, if he was actually getting time to relax and enjoy himself, or if his fears were somehow coming to fruition – even more realistically now that he would be going home to see things with his own eyes.

So when he returned to school in late January, as the rest of us did, I wasn't sure how to take his newly calmer, quieter state. The new Simon could have been a sign of a more secure, confident and relaxed little demon, or a somber, foreboding child with the certainty of his fears being legitimate. I tried – I actually voluntarily _tried_ - to engage him in conversation a few times, only to be brushed off quickly in his rush to catch up with friends or get to his next class.

He was avoiding me – only that much was obvious, as he was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve as so many other boys there were – anyone with half a brain could tell that the tension between Matthew and Dominic had grown significantly over time, and in our first lab lesson of the new year, I was genuinely shocked that I didn't have to tell them to shut their blabbing mouths once.

But Simon was the one who concerned me most – I just couldn't tell if his reluctance to approach me came from a dread that I would make him drudge up things he didn't want to think about because they made him frightened, or if he was just getting back into the normal state of being more interested in the teenage life, rather than sit and talk disease and death with an old doctor.

Somehow, I'd gotten to like discussing these depressing subjects with him.

Why the fuck did this little brat have to get to me?

Ben:

I should've known the first place to look would be there, when I stopped in at nearly ten at night to your room and Matt said you weren't there. In fact, he seemed surprised that you weren't with _me_. We weren't allowed off school property after ten, and that had been a rule even you hadn't considered breaking since we started there. We knew there were always ways around these things – curfews, room assignments, being in the appropriate place at appropriate times; we just never had a reason to push the limit before.

I checked in the library, but that was inevitably locked; I checked the gymnasium, in case you'd felt like kicking a ball around for a bit, but that was locked too. I almost panicked over the thought that maybe you'd gone out of your mind and sneaked away by yourself into town, but common sense hit me on the way back to the dorms from the gym, and I made the sharp detour without thinking twice about it.

The one place you still always felt like you were in control, the king of the jungle, the ruler on the hill.

And I found you there, sat among the rock formations, like some hill-dwelling hermit keeping his distance from the rest of civilisation. You'd made a fire in the small belly of our "castle," and were just sitting on one of the long slabs of rock, a paper-bagged glass bottle by your foot, staring into the protruding flames like a man on acid. So intent on gazing into the heat, perhaps in an attempt to block out the rest of the cold night, that you didn't seem to notice my presence as I climbed the long natural staircase to your hiding spot. I tried clearing my throat as I stood a few metres away and watched you huddle in on yourself, you in your dark, unbuttoned winter coat, but you didn't even blink. So I dared to come closer.

"Hey," I said softly, not wanting to startle you. It didn't matter, though – you'd seen me, apparently, even if you made no move to greet me.

"Matt said you went out," I went on as I carefully made my way to your side. "Thought I might catch you here."

You nodded vaguely, but kept your expression – so hard to read sometimes – neutral as you continued to stare blankly into the fire, in such a way that made me guess the bottle by your foot was more than half empty.

I hesitated for only a moment, but the truth was, I knew where I wanted to be. I settled for taking a seat beside you instead, careful not to disturb you as I made myself as comfortable as I could in the chilled air around us.

"Can't sleep?" I suggested gently.

You shook your head again, eyes straight ahead, half closed. "I'm sure I could if I tried," you explained in your low tone, slurring ever so slightly. "But I don't want to."

A strange way to look at it, I thought. The way my mind worked, if I was tired and had nothing else to do, I slept. But I figured you had things going on in your head all the time, so sleep was probably more an obstacle than an escape for you.

But I was curious – wanted to know, more and more, what exactly went on in that mind when you seemed so preoccupied, yet didn't say a word.

So I pushed, "You've been quiet lately."

A shoulder lifted lazily in response. "Lot on me mind."

"Like what?"

"Ehm... Stuff I didn't wanna bring up... to you 'n Jim." The reluctance was more than obvious in your husky voice, but now that I'd gotten you talking, I wasn't about to let you close in on yourself again.

I lifted my eyebrows, shoving my hands in my coat pockets and wishing we could get closer to the fire. "Like?"

Your head fell slightly to one side as you eyed up the warmth that still felt so far away from us. "I wasn't gonna come back at all, Ben."

This took me off-guard. Instantly, I blurted, _"What?_ You weren't?" As if accusing you of some horrendous back-stabbing stint.

"No – was gonna transfer home again."

Breathless, I shook my head, glaring at you through the darkness. "But why... why didn't you come to us? Talk to me and James about it? We would've--"

"I already decided not to do it, eh? I'm here, ain't I?" You made your point gently, without the scathing bitterness you could've let loose on me.

Which, basically, rendered me speechless; I was still just shocked you'd contemplated doing something so drastic without even mentioning it to me or James first. And we'd been around your home over holidays as well, and not a word had been uttered. Not even a hint. So the idea was just... unthinkable for me.

"Anyway," you went on, obviously having gotten over the last bit much faster than I did, "got some news today. Dean said I've been excused from Saturday detentions for the foreseeable future."

I gawked at you, stunned yet again at something that normally would have been unfathomable, but which you let roll off your tongue like reciting the alphabet. "That's great!" But then I pulled back, reigning in the cheer as I saw the dour look on your face, and it occurred to me that perhaps you were saving up the punchline for an even worse punishment. "Hang on – is it a trick?"

You shook your head. "Dad rang him up and requested that I be allowed to skip weekend detentions from now on..."

I scoffed noisily, scratching at my head in annoyance. "Bloody lucky bastard – how'd he manage that one?"

Then came that punchline – in a tone so morose, I would've thought you'd said something entirely different: "...so I can go home." You sounded like the plan was to feed you to wolves with every visit.

I raised my eyebrows again, impressed. "And the dean approved it? That's good news, isn't it? I mean, even if you can't spend that time fuckin' things up 'round here, which would definitely make life more fun for the rest of us, at least you don't--"

"I'd rather serve it."

I blinked at your matter-of-fact words, certain there was more to this than just dreading what punishments your mum could think up for you instead of the dean. "What's that mean?"

You finally glanced my way, albeit only briefly, to point out morbidly, "Y'saw it over holiday, didn't you?"

I hesitated, not wanting to say what had instantly jumped into my mind. You couldn't say it yourself, so why would I feel like I had any right to bring it up?

You averted your attention again, drifting back and forth between the fumbling fingers in your lap and the crackling flames a bit too far away to be of any use. "Goin' home... I wouldn't choose it over detention... not like this..."

Your unspoken meaning had been resting inside of me for weeks; but hearing you say it now, it woke up and nipped at my chest, causing me to tense up. Acknowledging that which neither of us could talk about – that dread you'd been expecting for months. "Jesus... Si..."

"I did request it, though. That's why I'm still here. Made a deal with 'em – I'd come back, but only if I could go home when I could. So I asked for it. But at the same time... Know what it means..."

I could see what a hard time you were having just trying to get your head around it, and I hated to see you suffer like that, like I'd told you so many times before.

"Y'don't have to say it, Si," I assured you quietly, reaching over to grasp the twitching fingers within my hands.

You kept your head bowed low, but uttered, almost inaudibly, "Thanks."

And that was when I realised what the icicles in my hands were, and I looked down at your bare fingers. "Jesus, man – your hands are freezin'..."

Your head swiveled uncertainly to glance further down at our joined hands, sounding a bit distant as you murmured, "Are they? Oh..." Like it didn't matter, or you couldn't even feel it. You chuckled and gestured to the bottle by your feet with your chin. "Guess that shit warmed me up inside, eh?"

"Aye, but it don't do shite for outside." Without thinking once, I slid from the rock, kneeling in front of you and rubbing your hands between my own, breathing heat onto them repeatedly until I felt the chill leaving your fingers. I was so intent on this that I didn't notice, at first, your attention shifting from the makeshift fire pit to my face. When I lifted my head to check and see if you looked any less uncomfortable, I paused, feeling suddenly shy at the way you gazed at me, as if only your mother and I had ever been the ones to treat you like that.

I cleared my throat, averting my eyes for a moment. "Better?"

"Aye. Thanks." You blinked lazily, then shrugged a shoulder toward the bottle. "Want some?"

Surprisingly, I shook my head. Normally I'd grab for the booze before it was even offered and finish the bloody thing off – but I just didn't want to obliterate my mind that night; especially since you seemed to be just on the edge yourself, and one of us needed to be coherent enough to get back inside eventually.

In fact, the thought occurred to me then that this whole exercise was pointless, and I suggested we go in--

But you were immediately shaking your head, as if the thought revolted you. "I can't... Can't yet..."

Seeing the alarm in your half-drunken eyes, I instantly jumped to soothing mode again and insisted, "Okay, we don't have to." But I couldn't take seeing you sit there, so oblivious to your own shivering. I tried again to force some warmth back into your frigid fingers, busying myself so I wouldn't have to see the pain in your face.

"Ben..."

Your voice reached me clearly, despite being so soft and broken that it never would have stirred the air otherwise – I simply felt the tone so severely that it shot straight to my heart, and never before had the sound of my own name made me want to cry. I lifted my eyes to you, praying internally that it wasn't as bad as I suspected.

It barely came out as a whisper, but it made me ache: "I'm scared."

I drew in a deep breath, lowering my glare to your hands again. Wishing for some wisdom, some kind of secret knowledge of how to make this all better.

"I know..." I bit my lip and met your pleading gaze again, and the sadness there made me reach up, touching your cold cheek with my fingertips as gently as I dared. "I'm here for you, Si," I told you, hoping I sounded as reassuring to your ears as I did to my own. But either you'd gone deaf, or you'd just heard it too many times, because it hardly did anything to alleviate the stress. "I always will be," I told you firmly. "I promise."

For a long moment, you held my gaze with tear-filled eyes, and though it was too dark to see the usually brilliant blue of them, I could feel the intensity of your longing, your need for something real and tangible to hold on to. More than just my mere words. So I started to lean in, to give you that something solid--

But just as I was about to touch your lips with my own, you bowed your head, pulling back slightly from my advance. When I blinked in surprise, you just shook your head, guilt shading your eyes now.

And I was back to just being Ben the mate, the best friend – not your lifeline. For the first time – and there had been others wherein I'd felt relief when you'd realised you'd been playing on my need to comfort you in order to get what _you'd_ wanted – I didn't feel that wave of release, of knowing the yearning for me could be put aside so _I_ didn't have to do something I truly wasn't keen on. This time, I felt regretful.

I'd always known, I suppose, that, as much as we cared for each other, there was something else inside of you that felt differently toward me than how I was toward you. And you held it back all the time. You joked about it, made fun of yourself for it – but that humour didn't make it any less real for you. There was a piece of myself that hated that I couldn't return that feeling – only in moments like this, when it was the last resort to help you feel loved by _someone_, even if it was just out of sympathy. But you hardly liked giving in to those times, because you knew I wasn't on the same level as you when it came to that. I was still counting on getting married to some gorgeous bird someday, making a family life for myself, having kids and thinking back on our foolish, experimental teenage years with a laugh.

You, though... You wanted more than what I could give you. And we'd always known it. Which was why – even those times we stopped messing about and had a legitimate fuck – we never let ourselves take it seriously. Me, because I didn't feel "in love" with you; you... because it hurt too much, I guess, to acknowledge what you couldn't have.

But something inside me changed that night. When I looked into your half-lidded eyes, full of unspoken anguish and subtle panic, and I couldn't feel that relief when you pulled yourself back at the last moment. There was something else there instead – something that wanted to jump out of my chest and batter me senseless until I admitted it...

But all that I did was shiver, noticing how cold you were again. I wanted to go in, to wrap you up in blankets and watch you fall asleep, but I knew you didn't want to yet.

So I slid my arms down to your waist and tugged at you, urging, "C'mon, then. C'mere."

You seemed confused at first, but finally gave in and let me drag you off the rock, onto the ground with me. I shuffled us closer to the fire, pulling you into my arms, and eventually managed to get into a more comfortable position, you sprawled between my bent legs, your head resting on my chest as I sat with my arms round you, hoping that you could at least feel the warmth of my body if the heat from the fire still couldn't reach you.

"Hey, Ben?" you said after some time, your eyes wide and staring blankly up at the cloudless, starry sky. "Where d'you think we go... when we die?"

The alcohol must have been kicking in then, I thought with bemusement over your rather random (though emotion-tinged) musing. I scoffed bitterly, "Dunno. Wherever it is, though, it's gotta be better 'n _this_ place."

A small, fragile smile touched your lips and you said softly, "I dunno... Kinda like it here, actually... There're so many things... I'd miss." You swallowed thickly, your eyelashes fluttering as you watched the sky with a sadness I couldn't possibly understand. Like waiting for a shooting star to fly by, despite knowing the true science of it and demystifying the childishly awesome event.

"Music," you murmured, your voice gentle and hypnotising as you started losing yourself in your own thoughts. "Laughin'... Sunsets – where the colours fade from one to the next, until it looks like it's bleedin'... The sky after a snowfall, how light it can seem, even in the dead 'a night... The sound of your voice when you're tired, like just wakin' up from a dream, an' y'see me starin' like a fool at you... Sex – I'd miss sex, mate – surely if there's a heaven, they wouldn't let y'have sex there. It's too evil to allow into heaven, init?"

"The kind _we_ have, aye," I chuckled. "Which is why it's so good--"

"Besides," you went on, not even hearing me, "if it's a Christian version of Heaven, they just see sex as a way to reproduce, don't they? So in Heaven, there'd be no need to do that, eh? So I guess that's out..."

"Time to check out Buddhism, then?"

"Aye... Or just... Hell."

"Aye, I think I could manage the heat if it meant still gettin' to fuck."

"Well, if you find the right woman here, you won't have to worry 'bout Hell, eh? You'd pump out babies to feed to Jesus like all the other breeders... You'd shoot straight to God's clouds, wouldn't ya?"

I paused, considering this – then blurted out thoughtlessly, "Nah, 'cos I'd still like doin' you better."

You let out a peel of laughter over that, but settled quickly when you realised I was being serious. A smirk still twisting your mouth, you glanced up at me and remarked, "Aye, you're not so bad yourself. You'll make some lovely woman a proud wifey someday."

And as you stared at me, and I at you, and I saw how little you thought I saw in you – I couldn't see the joke anymore. Even with the familiar twinkle glimmering in your eyes for the first time that night (or for the last several weeks, in fact), I couldn't make myself shift back to that old mindset. Just as you'd told me before about how you didn't see any point to lying about who and what you were – I couldn't find a reason to lie to you.

Completely ardent, I told you softly, "Heaven's got nothin' on you."

To my surprise, you just snorted, looking away into the fire again – the alcohol seeping further into your bloodstream, slipping further into your system as you rested against me. From the way your next words came out so slurred and nearly incoherent, I knew you were not speaking from your heart – just from intoxication.

"Heav'n don't need 'nother angel go crashin' int'Earth, eh? Lookit what Satan started! I'd have t'go 'n make up a sideways dimension a' me own version a' Hell to get me own world in, eh?" You chortled away mindlessly at your own visual, becoming a virtual ragdoll in my arms, before catching your breath and reiterating, "Think I'd rather stick 'round 'ere, eh? Too many cool things to miss... Just go leavin' me behind in the Rapture, why doncha..."

I gazed down at your pale, bleary face, which was too ill-looking even after the drink and light from the fire to put color into your cheeks, and nodded slowly.

"Aye. I'm just bein' cynical when I say it sucks. It's not so bad, actually. Long as you're here."

You struggled to drag your attention back to me, and in that time, as I attempted to go on and say the words just dribbling off my tongue as I watched you, you managed to lift a hand to my face and press your fingers against my lips to silence me.

"What?" I challenged, grabbing for your wrist. "I can't say it?"

You shook your head faintly, eyes falling closed as the drunken smile took your mouth. "Don't. Y'don't... have to say it, Ben."

"Why not?" I asked, grappling with your significantly weaker hand to get it away from my face. "You say it to me all the time, whether you're foolin' 'round or not – sometimes you mean it, I know you do. So it's okay for you to say it, but I'm not allowed!? What gives you the right--"

But you just shook your head against my chest once more. Looking like you were already asleep. "Thing is... you're so sweet... you'd do that for me... make me feel good... but won't have ya... thinkin' somethin' that ain't true... just to please me... Y-You're... You're lovely for wantin' to, mate, an' it's one reason I'm... in love with ya... because you _are_ that kinda sacrificin' friend... But I won't have it. Not like this. Not now. Too raw right now... Hurt too much..."

I was at a loss – a bit confused by your (half-blasted out of your bloody mind with vodka) reasoning, but mostly just because... for once, I felt like it _wasn't_ just pity, or sympathy, or consolation. Take away the situation, and I truly felt like it could've been the same...

But it'd been too many years of "what we both knew," too many years of the same jokes and the same hidden pain. You couldn't handle my honesty – you couldn't even _see_ my honesty, too consumed by the alcohol and grief to see the real love in my eyes.

So instead, I asked helplessly, "What do you want me to do then?"

You sighed heavily – or maybe it was a stifled sob. Finally, you shook your head. "Just this," you whispered softly, snuggling deeper into my chest. "Nothin' more, nothin' less. This is... good enough for me."

Aye. So it was. But it wasn't for _me_.

When I woke, the fire had almost gone out. The first rays of daylight were just barely making their way over the horizon. The chilled night had turned into a frigid morning. But all I found of you was your abandoned coat, draped thoughtfully over my hunched form. For a moment, I couldn't see any other sign of you. Surely you hadn't gone in alone, leaving me out on the cold rocks by myself...

And then I saw you - standing on the very top of the rock castle, in just your flimsy white poet shirt and black jeans, as if you were impenetrable to the cold. Your arms were raised up over your head, not in a waking stretch or a lazy scratching at your hair; just reaching into the empty air, as if waiting for some mystical hand to come down and sweep you away from the world. In the dim light, against the gloom of an unforgiving winter sky, your figure loomed above me - above everything, it seemed - in some kind of pleading pose to God, asking why you had to be the one to bear a burden only you and I knew about. And, perhaps, more than even I knew. From the tears I could make out on your face, your pain ran much deeper than just any young man being faced with his biggest fears; yours was quiet, eating away at your soul with every passing, uncertain day you couldn't control.

Maybe it was owed mainly to the fact that I'd just woken up, but you seemed at once to my eyes to be both a ghostlike spirit, an Earth-bound angel weeping over the inevitable loss of something secular but precious to you - and a small child, a boy denying the open wound of his heart bleeding a deeper red than the oncoming sun.

And when you dropped your arms and bowed your head, I could almost hear the answer being whispered to that fragile heart you kept hidden in your chest - _this is how it is_. And your defeat mingled with my exhaustion made my chest ache.

When you turned to face me then, I couldn't take my eyes off of you, of your pale, weary face and your red-rimmed eyes. I could tell from one glance that, despite your attempts to obliterate your consciousness with alcohol and your faint drifting the night before, you hadn't slept for a second.

_Why do you do this to yourself? Just come and sleep in my arms for once, I'll keep the monsters away if you just trust me to hold you..._

But I couldn't say it; and the empty stare you offered me in response to my overwhelming silence was a pain I couldn't recall ever experiencing before.

You crawled stiffly off the rock and hitched your coat over your shoulder, and as I struggled to get to my feet and prepare myself for the hike back to the dorms, you stomped out the rest of the embers of the fire.

We walked back in virtual silence, except your light humming which only vaguely reached my straining ears, and when I recognised your mother's favourite song, I fought hard not to grab you right there and then, just to hold you close to me. I simply let the memory of the song drift through my hazy mind and immersed myself in your soft rendition of it. You couldn't even bring yourself to sing the words for the somber meaning it held for you in that moment.

_Nothing's gonna change my world._

Matt:

Going back to school after a few weeks off was rough on everyone, but by the time we got back into the routine of everyday life, Dom and I had reached the point where we were hardly even speaking to each other. It wasn't addressed or acknowledged by either of us at first, but we both knew the tension was there. Suddenly I felt more like spending my nights buried in my books again, and Dom spent more and more time with Chris, as he went down to the rec center in town almost every night with Tricky and Ed to "practice." I was sure Dom just went to have something else to do besides hang out with me, despite his insistance that he just liked being around those guys. I'm sure he did enjoy it - but it was a convenient excuse as well.

I would have made up my own excuses to avoid him, as he was doing to me, by socialising more with Simon and the twins, but apparently they all had their own agendas too. Ben constantly came by to hang out with Simon while James went into town to visit some girl he'd met over holiday who was attending a school near ours - but Simon was rarely around himself.

I distinctly remember the first night Simon pulled his disappearing act - Ben found him at the castle and they didn't return until sunrise; Ben managed to make it through half the day before being excused from classes to catch up on missed sleep, but Simon ended up staying awake for three days straight before going home to Glasgow for the weekend.

When he returned the following Monday, Si disappeared after dinner again - but this time, Ben couldn't even find him anywhere on the campus. For weeks it would happen like that, just vanishing after a barely-touched meal. I noticed him sneaking off without even finishing the rare treat of rather excellent steak the twins had raved eagerly over. He'd seemed perfectly fine from where I could see him in the caf, had laughed and talked with his best mates like usual - and I had ample time to notice, as Dom and I had exchanged few words while Chris had been too busy stuffing his face with meat.

Trust me, the school's food was nothing to brag about, so for one meal to be satisfactory was like having Christmas all over again.

So when I caught Simon at the trash bin, tossing out over half of his portion, he didn't fail to register the concern on my face. I'd been about to ask if he was feeling all right, but he only grinned at me before rushing straight out of the cafeteria, not even stopping back at his table to say goodbye to the twins. And I didn't see him again until morning came and I woke to see some kind of heap of human in his bed.

This happened several times in January, not every night, but often enough for me to start developing a complex - and maybe an ulcer - about it. My paranoia that he would get caught one night wound me up to the poitn where _I_ couldn't sleep until he came back - right through the door, quiet as a mouse, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Though the scent of alcohol absolutely permeated the room, telling some hints of his previous night's activities.

So I suppose it's fair to say I was becoming a bit... _worried_ about my roommate. I didn't want to lead _him_ into that knowledge, but after a month of this behaviour, I couldn't hide it much anymore.

Aside from that, Dom and I had hardly done anything in the vein of "boyfriends" together in all that time. By the beginning of February, not only was life seeming more and more like a never-ending swamp of schoolwork and boredom, but my social life had taken a severe nosedive. The realisation that I was swimming in textbooks all over again, just like Simon had pointed out in the beginning of the year, was probably what peaked the issues in my head, made them pour out over into reality.

I'd tried, the few times Dom and I hung out in January, to get into his mind and find out where we stood; all it did was make him pull further away, into himself, and inevitably the following day after classes he would say he had made plans to go out with Chris. The uncertainty between us that neither of us had ever counted on having back when we were "just friends," it seemed to grow with every passing day, and he seemed content to let it. I was hesitant to even glance at Dom for too long out of fear that he'd think I was being too _open_ about it.

And that's how I came to see it, then: he didn't mind fooling around in private; he didn't mind getting romantic and gushy when we were alone; he even took pleasure in acting like the lovestruck fools we'd been at first - as long as no one else was around to witness it. I started to notice how he brushed me off so easily when our other friends were around, even with Chris - he'd hold back or change the subject whenever we edged around the mere mention of "alternative" relationships. Jokes weren't funny anymore, no matter who made them.

But whenever I tried to ask him about it later, he only shook it off like a bad dream and tried to soothe my concerns away with more cuddling. So I decided the best route of revenge was to do some pulling away of my own - by "having a headache," or being "swamped with work." And somehow, he seemed to feel more relieved than disappointed to leave the room earlier than the previous term.

It was slightly satisfying to know it bugged him, even if it wasn't to the extent I'd hoped. But the confusion and frustration inside me needed to come out and be addressed. The stress of no friends, a repeatedly disappearing roommate, and the non-communication between myself and my alleged boyfriend finally boiled over into my academic life - despite hitting the books every night.

No, my grades overall didn't suffer, but I certainly didn't help matters by letting my mind wander at crucial points. Naturally, with me and Dom, everything had to be so dramatic, yet literal as well. So when we had our blowout, of course it had to almost take out half the tables in Dr. House's lab. And that is _not_ just a play on words. One of those mental vacations where I didn't pay attention to anything going on around me resulted in a very loud and messy explosion during lab period in chemistry. Just after Dr. House had remarked to us to make sure we hadn't added too much of an ingredient to our mixtures - which Dom had, I didn't notice, already put in.

I think the noise itself was what startled me most, personally. But Dom's wide-eyed gape and stammering utterances brought me back to the realisation that I'd been the one to make the error.

Typically, he started in with the usual rant of what an idiotic spaz I was; I shot back in a nasty tone something about him not telling me he'd already put in the dangerous part, so how was I to know--

But then Dr. House shut us both up with his angry shout: "_Howard! Bellamy! _My office, _now!_"

After instructing the rest of the class to return to their seats and continue studying the next chapter, as he didn't want any other nimrods screwing around and blowing up the _rest_ of the lab, Dr. House ushered us both into the office adjacent to his classroom, ordering us to sit in chairs in front of his desk and closing the door behind him.

Dom and I exchanged smouldering glances before parking our rears where the professor had indicated, then quickly directed our attentions downward - not wanting to look at each other, but not wanting to confront the face of impending doom either.

"All right, boys," Dr. House growled as he swaggered into the chair behind his desk, much calmer than he'd been only a minute before, but still with a twitching rage just under the surface. I could feel his eyes burning holes into me, and I was sure Dom could feel the same thing - but neither of us seemed eager to jump into any kind of explanation behind our carelessness.

"Okay," he began again after a short silence, "I see we're going to have to pull some teeth here. I know you think I'm just some grumpy old doctor who's bitter about not _actually_ practicing medicine the last few years, but I _do_ actually take interest in some of my students. And others - like yourselves - can't help but put themselves _in_ my attention, which can be very damn annoying. So it's been pretty obvious to me that there's something amiss here. So come on. Let's get it all out in the open so we can deal with it and move on. I don't want to have to rebuild the entire science wing just because you two pinheads are having a spat. What's going on?"

Of course, whenever an adult - especially one in authority - asked that question, the automatic response came rolling off my tongue without a second thought: "Nothing's going on, sir." But if I did think more about it, I still didn't want to involve _Dr. House_ in a possible dilemma between myself and Dom.

But when Dom glanced heatedly over at me and mumbled in a surly sneer, "Yeah - absolutely _nothing_," I couldn't help but turn my head to shoot an equally vicious glance his way.

Dr. House rolled his eyes at us, sighing heavily. "Oookay," he crooned, leaning his head on a hand as if it felt too heavy to keep upright with just his neck muscles. "I get the feeling you mean two different things."

Squaring my shoulders, I looked straight at the teacher and proclaimed to him (though clearly it was meant to be directed elsewhere), "Well, maybe _something _would be going on if _someone_ wasn't so worried about _other people's_ opinions."

Before the instructor had a chance to respond, Dom cut in sharply, "And maybe _something_ would end up putting a _stop_ to anything _else_ happening because some _other people's_ opinions actually _do_ affect me - er, someone else, I mean."

House's eyes switched back and forth between the two of us, a tiny smirk on his face. "Is this some kind of secret code?"

But I wasn't paying attention to him; instead, I turned in my seat to face Dom and demanded, "Why should it matter, eh? They can't stop you from doing what you want from hundreds of miles away--"

Likewise, Dom seemed to forget that an instructor was in the same room as us and faced me as well. "Maybe not physically, but d'you really want to see my mum's face if I were to tell her? And I don't see why my refusing to say anything should have any effect on the things we do while we're _here--"_

"You're her _son_," I pointed out passionately, ignoring the bit about fooling around in secret. "It shouldn't matter what you do in the privacy of your own room--"

"And _you're_ naive to think that it _only_ goes as far as the bedroom!" he shot back lethally. "This is a lifestyle change, Matt, what you're talking about, when all I wanted was to have some fun with someone I really like--"

"It is not a whole lifestyle change!" I argued, desperate to put aside the insinuation - or outright admittance - that this was nothing more than "having fun" for him. Strangely enough, however, this attempt to deny the obvious was only pushing me in the direction of viewing something very intimate and special... as something cold and clinical. "We just add in some physical activities during the time usually spent sleeping, what's that got to do with your mum!?"

House put up a finger, trying to interrupt. "Um, I think I don't need to actually _hear_ this part of the conversation--"

"Is that all it is to _you_, then?" Dom demanded hotly, waving his arms about wildly. "Just fucking around? 'Cause _I_ thought it was a bit _more_ than that, as I _thought_ you did too - but if you just want to say it's purely physical, that's fine with me, and I don't see why we haven't done it more since break!"

"I never said it wasn't more than that to me!" I protested, easily becoming confused in my mind - weren't we both arguing the same thing, then? But there was more to it than that - he felt something more for me, I could guess that much... so why wouldn't he feel right about being open with it? Why did he have to make it so complicated!?

And he probably thought the exact same thing about me.

"But," I pointed out, still trying to get across the simplicity of it, "when you break it down and look at it logically, that's really all there is to it, isn't there?"

"No!" Dom answered bluntly. "That's not _all_, Matthew! D'you really think a relationship is just _sex?_ What about marriage? Kids? The whole bloody mess--"

"Gay marriage is becoming acknowledged and accepted more and more these days, even legally - and there's always adoption--"

House covered his face with his hands, moaning despondently, "Good God, they're talking families now?"

Dom abruptly turned to him and spat out, "And what's so wrong with gay couples raising kids!?"

The doctor forced a fake smile and shrugged. "I didn't say anything about gay couples - just _you_ two..."

I wouldn't let Dom weasel out of this so easily, though; dragging him back into _our_ argument, I persisted, "You're trying to make _me_ look like the freak here--"

"Not that you aren't doing a perfectly fine job of it yourself..."

I was genuinely surprised that Dom was so engrossed in our problem that he couldn't even crack a smirk at the doctor's joke.

Likewise, I ignored the professor and ranted on, "--just because I'm trying to see it as simply as possible. But _you're_ the one with the issues here, you started this whole thing! And now you don't even want to _look_ at me anymore!"

"I wasn't looking at you because you weren't looking at me!"

"D'you think I ever would've looked at you like that at all if _you_ hadn't made the first move? Now that I'm into it, suddenly you're _afraid_? What do you _want_ from me, Dom? Why did you even _start_ this in the first place if you're afraid to go through with it!?"

"I'm not afraid of _it_, and I _did_ go through with it, several times if you remember. I'm afraid _you_ don't know what you're in for! Clearly you're not grasping the whole concept here, so I want to just chill it out as far as announcing it to the world, is that all right with you?"

I sat back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest and demanding indignantly, "So tell me. What'm I in for, then?"

Dom shook his head, struggling to answer for quite some time. He rubbed his forehead, sighing wearily, and finally spoke, his voice taking on a harrowing tone instead of the previous panicked, emotional one. "I don't even nkow where to start, Matt. You... You're very much a _feeling_ sort of person, and once you lock onto something, you get lost in it - which is great, yeah, but..."

"But?" I urged haughtily, _so_ eager to find out what this _boy_, who I'd thought I'd known quite well for a number of years, could teach me about being gay.

"But... there _are_ repercussions you don't stop to think about."

"Like _what?_"

He paused again, biting his lip - and in his stead, Dr. House suddenly cut in, speaking lowly and with his head bowed, voice projected into the desktop, but eyes glaring hard - and, if I wasn't mistaken, _interestedly_ - at the two of us.

"A lifetime of questionable glances..."

Obligingly, Dom and I both shut up and paid attention, suddenly feeling like the children we were being instructed by the wise old sage.

"...of people wondering what sorts of other perversions you'll sink to if you're willing to give into another man. A world staring back at you, just waiting for you to do or say something they can use against you, to justify their disgust for you. Years of keeping your private life quiet because you just can't stand how people give you that odd look when you feel like you need to vent about your lover, and then they realise you're talking about another _man_. Suddenly all you do and all you are is put under a microscope. You are no longer a person, but a preference. And that preference can, in the right circles, decide your own fate."

He lifted his head, then, leaning forward on his desk and raising his eyebrows at us. "What you need to hang on to is that feeling you get when you're with that other person - if he excites you, if he calms you, if he makes you feel at home: whatever feeling he gives you that made you fall in love with him. And if that feeling is strong enough to make _you_ feel strong, then is it worth the trouble of putting up with the rest of the world's paranoia to keep that feeling?"

A moment of thoughtful silence - and then a beat later, the doctor was lurching back in his chair, raking a hand through his greying hair and rolling his eyes again. "And at seventeen, you don't know what strength is. So just have fun, for fuck's sake. Worry about love when you're old and frail and need someone to help you to the bathroom."

He cocked an eyebrow at us, studying our awkward positions carefully. He was suddenly no longer the commisserating know-it-all friend, but the rigid know-it-all professor, barking to his wayward students to get themselves together. "Are we talking again? Lines of communication are open and ready to be used? Because I'll flunk you both out of my class if I even catch of whiff of smoke next time."

Immediately, Dom and I nodded, answering in unison, "Yessir."

"Good. Now get out of here. Go give each other blowjobs and leave me alone already."

I blinked at him, giving him an absurd look. "Is that your solution to everything?"

He replied with a sly grin, "It worked with Jim, didn't it?" 

I had to hide the gloating from displaying itself on my face, but when Dom showed up at my dorm (hours after Simon had vanished, of course) later that night, I felt more than just relief wash over me - as if everything Dr. House had said that day had gotten to him somehow, more than my own usual nagging could.

"Hey," he greeted me, books in his arms and a bashful smile on his face. "Thought maybe we could, y'know... study together again."

I happily let him in and smiled to myself as he made himself comfortable on my bed. Just like old times, I thought as I joined him, feeling like everything was right with the world again. Maybe something could even happen between us that night, I thought to myself hopefully...

Unfortunately, not an hour later, I had to open my big mouth again - ultimately ruining the casual air between us that had decided to revisit us finally.


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Lesson Eleven: How To Scare Your Roommate

Rating/Warnings: R, for language, slashy bits, angst, annoying jokes, hints of trauma. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: Untrue.

Matt: 

I thought it was rather fitting to bring it up at the time; we were simply re-reading the intended result of the experiment in chemistry lab that we'd (_I'd_) literally blown that day, so naturally it would lead me into thinking about what had happened instead of the mysterious bubbly mixture turning out correctly.

I nudged Dom with my elbow as we sat side-by-side against the wall on my bed, sharing the same textbook as we scribbled notes into our own separate notebooks. "So... what do you think?" I asked innocently.

He hardly broke his concentration from writing to respond vaguely, "About what?"

I stared hard at him, waiting for him to finish; but when he did and merely looked over at me with that blank, clueless look on his face, I felt like smacking him upside the head for being so daft.

"About world domination by cockroaches once humans are wiped out by a nuclear holocaust."

He blinked at me. "Huh?"

I finally gave into my initial urge and whacked him over the head.

"Ow!" Dom hollered, rubbing his as-yet-unformed bruise with a look of pure confusion etched on his face. "What the fuck was that for!?"

"C'mon, Dom," I snapped haughtily, gesturing to the experiment. "What d'you _think_ I'm talking about? What else did we screw up today besides Dr. House's class?"

"There's no need to _hit_ me, you lunatic!" he wailed, still gingerly fingering the sore spot. "It's just a bloody question!"

"So's mine!"

His shoulders slumped as he returned my insulted glare, reminding me acidly, "Well, I'm not bloody psychic, okay? Your thoughts tend to be so scattered that I have to play catch-up between sentences – and _don't_ make an awful mustard joke now just 'cause I said `catch-up.'"

I sulked for a moment, injured by his immediate dismissal of a rather clever line I'd gotten used to pulling out when the wording fit... (It was hardly a Simon-esque quip, but it was silly enough to make _me_ smile...)

When I recovered my ego, however, I urged him back into considering the discussion we'd had earlier in the day: "Well, I mean, what Dr. House was talking about today..."

Dom instantly groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall behind us. "Oh God, you're still worried about _that?_"

"Not worried, exactly," I lied, feeling a bit hesitant to find he was clearly _not_ keen on bringing it up again. "Just... curious... about what you think about it..."

Dom let his head loll on his neck for a few moments until it finally came to a standstill facing me, his eyes half-lidded and his expression dull. "You really wanna know what I think?"

My instincts told me to back off already; my mouth found a mind of its own and muttered uncertainly, "...Yeah..."

Dom straightened his head again, focus shifted back to the book – so he wouldn't have to smirk slyly at me? Or so he wouldn't have to face me while he let me down?

"I think he's right – I think it's all too soon to go proclaiming a lifelong commitment to each other _now_, when we're hardly old enough to drink in pubs. Blimey, some people don't seem to get it right 'till way into their middle-age—"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing; before I knew what I was blurting out, the words came in a flushing wave: "So then why start any of this with me, Dom? If you're not sure--"

"Look," he cut me off, obviously having heard this tirade before, "I didn't expect you to go getting all dreamy-eyed romantic on me way back that one night when we were both just drunk and horny, y'know. If I'd known then that you'd go planning our bloody future _life_ together, I would've kept meself in check--"

I gawked at him, at his blatant admission of regret – and took it to totally new heights as I pointed out (I must confess, mostly out of hurt over being brushed off like that _again_), "But it isn't just about that one night, Dom – what about all those weeks after, too? Were you just playing along all that time? Because _I_ was so into it? For what, just another chance to screw around!?"

I completely believed he was going to deny this claim, especially when he winced and started shaking his head – but then, to my horror, he stopped, glancing up at the ceiling as he actually took the time to consider this.

Then, still avoiding my gaze, he answered lowly as his focus switched to the duvet, "Maybe it was... Maybe," he murmured, more to himself than to me.

But I wasn't going to let him off the hook with an understanding that it was a revelation to him as well – I was, truth be told and without mincing words, downright _furious_.

"`Maybe'!?" I shrieked, too upset by now to be subtle about my reaction to this confession. "Fuck's sake, Dom, we're _friends!_ We were always friends first, weren't we!? Would you really do that to someone who you consider to be a _friend?_ _Using_ me? Or were those years of friendship all a farce leading up to you getting what you wanted too!?"

"Matt, calm down," he tried to interrupt, turning to look at me when I started getting worked up to the point where my arms were flailing. "I didn't mean--"

But I was beyond calming down by then; I was too blind with such feelings of betrayal to fathom ever wanting to even see his face again. The hole inside me that had opened up when I'd started having doubts about his true feelings for me – well, that night, it seemed to widen to a staggering, gaping degree, and all I could do in the heat of the moment was lash out.

And the fact that it got to me so much – well, that just made me feel remarkably uncool, too, so why not just lose it all in one silly tantrum?

Without letting him finish, before he could explain himself, too rattled by how obsessed I'd become with this illusion of love we'd been tip-toeing around, I waved him off in disgust and ordered, "Get out, Dom. Just... Just get out and leave me alone."

He tried again to speak, but I physically turned my back on him, dragging _my_ textbook with me to signal that he wasn't welcome to share it. Too stubborn to hear anything he had to say.

Sighing heavily when he realised his words would do no good, Dom finally gave up and obeyed, trudging out of my room in a very obvious state of dejection; I glanced briefly over my shoulder just as he made it through the door, and noticed that the books were hardly a solid explanation as to why he looked as deflated as he did.

And as soon as he was gone, I hurled myself flat onto the bed and stuffed my head under a pillow, muffling a scream of pure hatred into the mattress – hatred not for him, but only myself.

So I'd mucked up my own night by getting angry over Dom's honesty, and I felt stupid for having let myself get so lost in and bloated on this whole "love" bollocks; strangely enough, though what had sent me over the edge was Dom's confession that maybe it _had_ been all about getting laid, I couldn't get over the fact that I'd actually been looking forward to messing around that night, had things gone better between us. Unfortunately, because of my flapping lips, any action to be had was clearly only going to be in my head.

And I was _really disappointed_ about it too. Sincerely, genuinely – I'd been _hoping_ for something to get us going, but I'd only led us to a full-stop instead.

So staying up later than usual was not a chore for me that night. I tried, unlike other nights when Simon was nowhere to be found, to make myself sleep – I studied more, thinking the words would start to blur and blend together; I took more than the recommended dosage of minor-aches-and-pain pills; I played soft, depressing music; I even counted bloody sheep. All it did was make me more miserable than I'd been previously. (And then I noticed that one ingredient on the pills bottle read "caffeine"; wonderful.)

When I thought my body would finally give out as I sat there at my desk and attempted to drown my brain in chapters of chemistry we wouldn't be reaching until June, I was yanked out of a mental stupor (but not _sleep_) by the shriek of the telephone just beside me. As if someone outside of me was pulling a string, I instantly grabbed it, thinking it would be Simon.

"Hello?"

As if on cue, the pleasantly cheerful – but dragging, slurring – voice on the other end greeted me, "Heeeey, hi, Bellsy..."

I let out a breath of relief I hadn't realised I'd been holding, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Simon? Is that you?" Like I needed to ask – only one person could sound that chipper (however stoned) at... bloody hell... almost five in the morning.

"Aye, mate, 's me. Whatchoo up to?" As if he'd rung me up at two in the afternoon.

"Goddamnit, Simon, where the hell are you?" I hissed, hunching my shoulders and glaring out the window in front of me at the dark night sky.

"Eh? Umm... I'm outside. Somewhere... Why?"

"Outside?"

"Yeah. What's wrong? The RA went to sleep hours ago--"

"I know that," I sniped at him, already fully aware from his previous assurances in January that our adult supervisor slept like a log every night. "But still, do you have any idea what time it is!?"

"Ehm... No, actually, I don't – was hopin' maybe you could tell me--"

"It's almost five in the fucking morning, Simon!" It was the latest he'd ever been out – usually he was home by two, once or twice by two-thirty; in any case, it was always too late to get a full, comfortable night's sleep.

"Wow," he mused airily. "That's pretty late... or early, depending on your perspective..."

"Why the hell are you still _out_ at five in the morning!? And why – why call _me?"_ He didn't usually call anyone at all, but I'd honestly expected him to call someone like James or Ben, seeing as they knew his way of thinking a bit better than I seemed to – of course, I hadn't counted on Simon doing a tailspin that would throw off even _their_ expectations of his train of thought.

Taking me by surprise, then, he told me sheepishly, "Ehm... Needed to hear a familiar voice, I guess. Someone... vaguely friendly, maybe... Dunno, really – maybe I just... I wanted to talk..."

It was a touching sentiment – but not one he couldn't have given to either of the twins, and certainly not one that made much sense, seeing as he was "outside somewhere" and I was, as always, in our dorm room.

"We can talk here in the dorms," I reminded him.

"Aye, but, well... I'm out here, ain't I?" And the following giggle told me he was worse off than usual.

I closed my eyes, groaning to myself. "Hang on... Are you... How bloody drunk are you this time?"

His only answer was another laugh, louder this time, less stifled.

"Seriously, mate," I urged, desperate to get him back home before he was somehow discovered, "where are you? Ben came by twice tonight--"

Simon sounded suddenly alert, and rather tense. "Y'didn't tell 'im where I was, did you?"

"No – because I couldn't!" I growled. "_I_ don't know where you are!"

"Oh – yeah, that'd be tough to answer, wouldn't it?" He giggled again, but once that subsided, he went on casually, "So what're you doin' up at this hour?"

I opened my eyes again, glaring at the moon, which was much lower than I'd hoped it would have been. "You _rang_," I reminded him through gritted teeth.

"You picked up after one ring," he pointed out smartly, "which suggests you weren't asleep. Or you're just a very light sleeper – which I _know_ ain't true..."

"I was studying," I told him, figuring it was the most logical – and believable – explanation. Certainly it wasn't just that I couldn't sleep after my fight with Dom – or because I was too worried about _him_...

"Oh... why? Isn't Dom there?"

I cringed to myself, wanting to smack him through the phone.

"I would've thought you two would be trying to prove the next step in the procreation evolution of the male species or somethin', havin' the room to yourselves--"

"Well, I never know when you're gonna be back when you disappear like this," I interrupted crisply, hoping to get across to him that I didn't feel like talking about my (non-existent) relationship with Dom to _him_. Redirecting the flow of the conversation onto _his_ problems, I informed him, "This is the fourth time in two weeks, man--"

"Ah, like we never walked in on each other before," he chuckled, clearly more interested in the other conversation to address his regular absences. "You're too shy, mate--"

"It's not like I..." I cut myself off before I could let him bait me any further, deciding on a more direct approach: "Look, forget it. Are you gonna be home soon?"

"Home? Soon? Ehm... Prob'ly the weekend--"

"Not Glasgow, you fool, _here_. _To-night_."

"Oh, right. Aye, guess so... If I can manage..."

I furrowed my brow when he trailed off, catching the faint sound of his laboured breathing on the other end. "Manage what?"

There was a strained silence for a long moment, then Simon blurted out carelessly, "Oi, y'know, you've prob'ly seen me half-dressed or fully naked more than Ben and James put together, so y'really shouldn't worry 'bout that – you prob'ly know what some of my tattoos look like better than _I_ do, so--"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, growing irritated by his nonsensical rambling.

"Just sayin', y'know... Don't worry so much. When I go out, feel free to get as dirty as y'want with your little boyfriend 'n aw..."

I shook my head, giving up on trying to figure out a reason behind his babbling after I'd already dismissed it before. Once again, I had to brush over it just to get to _my_ point. "Fine, great, whatever. Are you gonna be back soon or what?"

"Ehm..." He sounded even more distant than previously, which only gnawed at my infuriating maternal side. "...What..."

"Huh?"

"No, I'm just kiddin'. Hey, you alone, or is Dommy there too?"

I let out a huff of annoyance, wondering why he was so obsessed with Dom and me getting it on – and demanded, "Why do you _care?_ Just get your arse back here before anyone figures out you're gone--"

"No, I mean..." There was a pause, and I swore I heard him gulp faintly. A shaky breath followed, then a pleading, "Is anyone there with you? I'm really askin' here..."

"Oh... Uh, no. I'm alone."

Instantly, he _tsk_ed at me. "Aw, what a shame. Didn't get lucky, eh? That's too b--"

"Look," I barked, "if you must know, Dom and I aren't exactly... on the best of terms right now, so there would be no reason for him to be in here, as there's no reason for us to fool around--"

"Eh?" He sounded genuinely surprised at this. "Aw, c'mon, that's the _best_ reason to fool around, mate – sometimes, anyway. Lots of, ehm... blood and tears... makes for a very, ehm... bonding experience... or something..."

"That's not reconciliation, Si – that's abuse."

"Nah – it can be therapeutic, eh?"

"Right!" I scoffed. "What the hell kinda household did you grow up in!? Besides, I can hear the laughter in your voice, you know. You sound a little too winded to mean it."

"Eh? I ain't... laughin'... It's just a shame you two are fightin'..."

I rolled my eyes, realising with dread that he wasn't going to let up on this until I addressed it fully. "Not _fighting_, really, just... Okay, maybe we are... Look, are you anywhere near home yet?"

"Ehm... Oh, right – yeah, can you come get me?"

That threw me off – I literally sat up straighter in my chair, my head tilting to one side as if he were right there in front of me. "Come get you?"

"Yeah, ain't far. I just... don't think I can make it back meself. Think I need some help..."

I snickered morbidly at him, reminding him, "Mate, I haven't got a _car_, remember?"  
"Naw, y'don't need one."

I cocked an eyebrow upwards, utterly lost. "Eh? Then... you want me to come and get you... with what?"

"Jus'... look out the window."

First, I took a moment to sit back and look at the _phone_, as if he were sticking his hand right through it and waving. Then, I finally obeyed, leaning in over my desk and peering out the window, wondering what I was supposed to be looking for.

And then I found it – found _him_, actually, across the street, sitting on the sidewalk, half in and half out of a phone booth.

I gaped at him as he waved a wobbly arm back at me.

"Oi, there y'are!" he giggled. "I c'n see yer light on, mate..."

"What the fu—Simon, why're you sitting down there!? Have you been there this whole time!?"

"Ehm, only as long as our conversation – this is how I rang you, _duh_."

"Why the hell did you – if you were right there, then--"

"I said, I don't think I can make it up on me own."

I stood from the desk, bending over and squinting as if that would help me see him better through the darkness outside. "My God! How drunk _are_ you!?"

"Ehm... Pretty bad... Well, 'nough that I couldn't f—well, I ain't... very..." He sounded like he wanted to say one thing, but something else kept coming out instead. He finally decided on a weak, "I'm pretty rough right now..."

"I'll say," I agreed helpfully. "You're hardly making any sense."

"Yeah, I, ehm... Think I need some help..."

"Look, fine," I sighed, "I'll be right down, but... just answer me one question."

"Eh?"

"Why'd you ring me? Why not Ben—"

"No, not..." The alarm in his voice was quite evident again, and I even detected a shift in his position from where I stood watching. "Can't call him... not for this... Don't... Don't want 'im to see me like 'is, eh..."

"See you like what?" I challenged cleverly. "Completely and utterly smashed? As if he hasn't seen that before--"

"No, man," Simon insisted, sounding utterly serious now. "I just... I'm in a bad way... 'S not all the alcohol either, I just... need some help... please?"

This forced admission finally piqued my interest – and my possibly imagined ulcer began burning with anticipation – and I gave another sigh. "I'll be right there."

The hard part wasn't sneaking past the RA's closed door, or creeping down three flights of stairs to get to the lobby. The hardest part of getting to my "helpless" roommate was being able to reach a rock near the locked glass door without having the heavy bastard close on me. My arm may have looked quite long because of it being so thin, but it really wasn't. Thankfully, I managed to find one not too far away, so lying down on the ground whilst holding the door open by the bottom enabled me to reach the rock with my foot. After that obstacle was taken care of, I stepped outside and noticed for the first time how bloody _cold_ it was, remembering at last that it was still February. And I hadn't bothered to wear my shoes, or a coat.  
Oh, was he going to pay me back for this one...  
Holding myself in a hug in an attempt to keep warm, I jogged the length of the cement walkway down to the sidewalk, wincing as stones and clumps of ice dug into my socked feet. No doubt this pair was going straight into the laundry once we were back inside. Across the street from the booth, I paused, eying up the seemingly limp form still lying prone on the ground.  
"Si?" I hissed, imagining some odd circumstances wherein perhaps some alien life forms had descended upon my weakened roommate whilst I'd been fighting with the door, replacing his brain with... some kind of weird... alien... thing...  
There was a snort of laughter, and Simon struggled to sit up a bit in the booth. "That li'l show there was better 'an any sitcom, mate," he informed me, giggling deliriously.  
Okay - no aliens from above; just the typical alien who had been invading my life space for the past several months.  
I crossed the road in a few long strides and stood above him, wondering why the hell he was still lounging on the ground without a care in the world. I held out my arms and announced, "All right, I'm here."  
"Aye, I can see that!" he chuckled, still hunched in his booth with his legs sticking out onto the sidewalk. "Made quite a display of your heroics, too, di'ncha?"  
I gestured to the dorms behind us and asked breathlessly, "How do you usually get back in at night, then?"  
A puff of smoke emanated from the booth and he reached out to stub the rest of his cigarette out on the sidewalk, explaining, "There's a dodgy window in the back I can sneak in and out of when I want, but I won't tell y'where it is because knowledge is dangerous... Anyway, I don't think I can really handle crawling 'round through windows tonight..." he snickered bitterly, and bare hands suddenly clamped onto either side of the open doorway to the booth as Simon slowly and shakily eased himself fully outside.  
And all I could do, when I'd gone down to help him, was stand there and gawk as he struggled to get to his feet: even the heavy black winter coat (which wasn't buttoned at all, and in fact was hanging off one visible bare shoulder) couldn't hide what a wreck he was. Hair soaked with a mixture of snow and blood, dark smears across his forehead and cheek, spattered down his neck and shoulder, faint bruises starting to form near his neck and collar bones - not to mention a black eye and bloody lip. His clothes were twisted and wrinkled beyond comprehension of any kind of comfort, and as he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, he jerked in a painful way, causing him to flinch with every movement. As I stood there and stared at him, stunned by his appearance, I couldn't understand how he seemed to be panting and sweating like he'd just run a marathon, whilst I was freezing my non-existent bum off - and his shirt was even stretched to an unnatural degree, a bit torn here and there, barely hanging onto his obviously beaten and weary frame. How was he not frozen solid by then!?  
But all I could manage to say was a breathless, "Jesus, Si... What... What the hell happened to you!?"  
His unbruised eye twitched sporadically as he leant against the phone booth, rubbing at his head with his free hand. "Eh... Not a good night, mate," he mumbled, blinking wearily as he pulled his hand away - looking startled at the blood that grazed his fingers.  
I finally found my wits again and stepped towards him. "What the... You in a fight or something?"  
He winced as I tried to reach up to pull some hair back, to see where all the blood was coming from, holding out a hand to ward me off. "Ehm, no..." He hesitated, then shook his head faintly, looking down at the sidewalk. "Well, kinda..." At my confused stare, he finally smirked and shrugged, "Yeah, fight. Y'know, got a bit too pissed 'n picked on the wrong guy I guess..."  
I rolled my eyes at him, giving him my best motherly stare. "Simon..."  
He shook his head again, seeming more tired than he sounded: "Look... Jus' help me in, eh?"  
With a scolding sigh, I hitched his arm over my shoulders, completely aware (despite not saying anything) of his stifled groan of pain as I hooked my arm around his waist to steady him, and slowly managed to drag the poor boy back into the warmth of the dorms.

One role I'd never planned on playing with Simon was the one of nursemaid; I wasn't even rewarded for my efforts of getting him up to the room and to his bed with any sort of explanation, as he was in too much pain and had too little breath to say anything the entire trek. And when we finally reached "home" and I tried to get him to cooperate enough to get out of his coat and boots (which was a chore all on its own, let me tell you), all he seemed to want to do was lie down and sleep, no questions answered - not even as I grabbed a towel from the laundry bin and started mopping at the moisture on his head and face, not that I could fine any visible source of the blood - though he refused to let go of my arm once I'd pulled the duvet up over his chest. Immediately as I tried to turn away, his hand was there, gripping my wrist and tugging at me.  
"No, don't--" he whimpered, and I looked down at his pale face in surprise.  
"What?" I asked, tossing the soiled towel aside.  
"Don't go... Don't leave me, eh..." he pleaded, his eyes darting around wildly.  
His suddenly unusual timid nature made me hesitate, studying him carefully through the stringy locks of damp hair hanging lazily over his eyes. "I'm not leaving – I _can't_ leave!" I laughed, gesturing to my own bed. "I'm just gonna try to get a _few_ hours of sleep, like you should do too--"  
But as soon as I tried to move away, his grip tightened around my wrist and he pulled me back again. "No, please – just stay here a minute."  
I rolled my eyes, sighing tiredly - this new, softer side of him was... well, quite disturbing, to be honest. Not like him at all. Must have been the alcohol, I figured, and swiped his hands off of me. "Si, sleep it off--"  
But the little bugger was persistent: both of his hands groped for me, then, grasping me desperately as he tried to sit up; he flinched automatically and flopped back on the pillow, but continued, "Please – I don't.... wanna be alone right now."  
It was sweet that he trusted me that much, wanting me to hang around as closely as possible when he was in a strangely frail state. But at the same time, I found it a bit ridiculous. "You're not alone, I'm right over there--"  
His fingernails dug painfully into my skin, and when I glanced down at him, his eyes were wide and begging. _"Please_... Matt, please."  
Well, what else could I do? When he asked with such uninhibited need like that, this guy who hardly asked for help when, perhaps, his hair was on fire (I hadn't seen it, but I could imagine...), and was so adament about it, I couldn't very well turn my back on him.  
Finally, I sighed heavily and slumped down onto the mattress beside him. He quickly tossed the duvet aside to let me in, and just as I got comfortable, he startled me even further - by throwing his arms around me fiercely, trapping my torso in a tight hug as he flopped his possibly injured head on my chest and - there's no other way to say it - _snuggled_ up close to me.  
I chuckled at Simon's suddenly affectionate behaviour, patting his head gently. "Better?"  
He nodded fervently, adding for emphasis, "Mmhm..." We were quiet for a while, until he finally broke the silence with a random, "Hey Matt."  
"What?"  
"Why you and Dom fighting?"  
I had to fight the urge to growl, simply settling on rolling my eyes and letting out a sigh of exasperation. "I said, we're not fighting, we're just not... not on the best of terms at the moment."  
Like Simon could ever be lied to... "Oh, c'mon. You're not yourself when you two're like this. What happened?"  
"What's it matter to you?" I challenged him, my mouth catching a few stray strands of hair. I reached up to swipe them away and he shifted slightly against me.  
"'Cause I wanna know. Don't break my ideal here, eh, mate?" He shook me gently, urging me to go on. "Talk to me. What'd he do to make you deprive him of your hot little bod, eh?"  
Of course, the quintessential Simon spoiler-of-the-moment. Except, well, he'd never actually come right out and said it that blatantly before - I blamed the alcohol. I swatted his hair cautiously, making sure I didn't actually add to his pain as I tried to punish him for being such a sick cunt. "Cor, you're getting weird--"  
"Seriously, mate. What's goin' on?"  
"Nothing! We're not fighting!"  
Another brief silence, and then Simon lifted his head from his chest; I could just barely make out the glint in his dark blue eyes as he glowered knowingly at me. And he said one word, in such a tone that made it obvious that he was not buying my bullshit: "..._Matt_."  
Simple as that, and he had me. Before I could stop myself, I was blurting it out with as much frustration as I'd felt earlier that night: "Okay, so, like, I'm kinda... I'm annoyed he doesn't wanna tell his parents. About us. Or anyone, for that matter – as if people here don't already know..."  
"Pfft," Simon mocked me petulantly. "Like you've told your folks you like gettin' cock up yer arse already."  
I gagged slightly at the blunt wording, but insisted passionately, "That's not the real issue though – it's not that he _won't_ do it, it's that he doesn't _want_ to."  
"And you do?" he chuckled, laying his head on my chest again.  
"Yes! Well... maybe not in those words--"  
"You _wanna_ tell your folks you're queer?" He let out a full-fledged laugh, shaking against me and everything. "That's the first time I ever heard someone say that."  
"Well, what about you?" I challenged, nudging his arm. "You're always goin' on about being honest, being yourself--"  
"Aye, but that don't mean you gotta feel like shouting it from the rooftops. Well, maybe _I_ do, but not everyone else. Bloody hell, you do that..."  
I let my dry eyes close briefly as I groaned at the oncoming lecture. Preferring not to hear it, I cut him off: "I know, I know – gay bashers all over will come chasing us with clubs."  
Simon paused for a moment, considering, then went on, "Well, aye. But I was gonna say..."  
"What?" I urged when he trailed off.  
He shook his head faintly. "Ehm... That."  
"No, you were gonna say something else."  
I felt him shrug against my ribcage, brushing it off easily. "Eh, maybe. But yours makes more sense."  
"What were _you_ gonna say?" I pushed.  
He hesitated for a long time, but when he spoke, it was with a trace of a dark humour tinging his voice. "Just that the wrong people might come along and try to tell you what you want. Or, y'know... do things y'don't want... somethin' like that..."  
The way he suggested it, with a bitter chuckle just after speaking, made me furrow my brow, glancing down at the top of his head curiously. And once again I was suspicious of this fight he'd agreed he'd had earlier. "Did something happen tonight?"  
"Loads, mate," he assured me lowly. "All over the world – wars breakin' out, people dyin', geniuses drowning in wine--"  
"To _you_, I mean."  
Another uncomfortable pause before answering vaguely, "Maybe I visited Hell for a bit, but that's neither here nor there."  
I twisted my head slightly, trying to look down into his face. "Huh?"  
But Simon evidentally wasn't interested in talking about his bad night; instead, he pressed further, "What I wanna know is why you think it's so bad Dom wants to stay hushed 'bout it."  
Fine, I thought; let him get off the hook this one time. But he still owed me, especially after making me bring up something _I_ didn't feel like thinking about anymore.  
"Well... it's just... It feels like he's ashamed of me – of _us_ – when he's the one who made the first move. I mean, if he was serious, wouldn't he even _think_ about telling his parents? Why is it so bad to consider it? And now I'm convinced he truly only wanted to fool around for... well... for the sex itself."  
"Eh, he ain't a bad bloke for that – y'gotta admit," he pointed out with a grin I could hear in his voice, "you're a very pretty young man."  
I did a double-take, gaping at the top of his head. "..._What?_"  
"Aw, c'mon," he giggled deliriously, nudging me in the ribs. "Like you don't know."  
"I _don't!"_ I insisted, wriggling away from his prodding finger. "Wait - _What?_"  
Simon thankfully relented on his quest to tickle me senseless, and instead replied airily, "Can y'really blame the guy for bein' hot for ya? You're not a bad catch, Bells, take it from someone who knows..." Then he grew serious again, letting me in on a quiet truth Dom probably hadn't had the heart to mention to me before: "But anyway, I can see his point, y'know – it'd be amazing if we all still knew each other in ten years, mate. Let alone declaring eternal love for another bloke at seventeen. We're still quite young, Matt. He prob'ly figures it's not all gonna pan out in the long run."  
I huffed irritably and tried to fold my arms over my chest stubbornly - but my roommate's body was in the way, so I just ended up squeezing him a bit too harshly, causing him to wriggle this time until I let my arms fall flat at my sides again. "So why's he gotta start anything at all!?" I whined, gripping the duvet in my fists to release some tension.  
"Ehm, because that's how things _start?" _he suggested playfully. "Right now, he's into you. But people change, Matt. Especially at this age. Perspectives, interests, infatuation – these things change. And who says it's a bad thing? Long as you're happy in the moment--"  
"And what if I'm _not_ happy?"  
He shrugged helplessly. "Then change your situation – or your perspective. At least it's something you _can_ change. Might as well have time while you have the fun, eh?"  
I paused this time, trying to work out the jumbled words in my head. "...You mean have _fun_ while you have the _time?_"  
"Aye, 's what I said," he assured me lazily.  
"No, you—_oh_, are you smashed," I laughed, ruffling his hair gingerly.  
And then something popped out of his mouth that I had never expected to hear: "Hey, did I ever tell you about my dog?"  
Again, I just stared down at his head, wishing I could see the look on his face - and wondering where the hell this had come from...  
"...No."  
He cleared his throat and began his story, "Had a dog, when I was a wee boy. Good boy he was, too. Never bit, just loved to play. But he kept gettin' out all the time. We weren't mean to him or anythin' – he just would skip off for a while and not come back for days. Think he liked chasing cars. He wasn't the brightest mutt around... Then one time, he ran away."  
I waited a beat; when he didn't go on, I asked, "...And?"  
"And what?"  
"And... what happened to him?"  
"I dunno, he ran away!" he scoffed, as if _I_ was the weird one to ask. "Never saw him again."  
I waited again, this time for much longer than previously; again, when there was no other inkling of what had prompted this little storytelling, I blurted out absurdly, "What's that got to do with anything!?"  
"I dunno," Simon cooed sleepily. "Just hope he's happy wherever he ended up."  
"Like in a ditch by the side of the road."  
He scoffed, smacking my covered stomach for being so pessimistic. "And you say _I'm_ morbid?"  
"Well... no, I didn't say that," I corrected.  
"Oh. Well, say it now. So I won't be a liar."  
"No!"  
"Why not?"  
"'Cause you just told me to!"  
"So you won't just 'cause I told you to?"  
"No! I mean, yes, exactly that!"  
"Fine, then, don't kiss me either."  
"Fine, then, I will!" I suddenly jerked upwards, my head snapping down to gape at him. "Wait – _what?_"  
I could just about make out half of his smiling face as he remained resting on my chest, eyes closed and hand pressed firmly between his cheek and my ribs. "Just seeing if you were payin' attention."  
Toying with me again - like always. That little shit!  
"...You're fucked up, you know that?"  
"Aye," he said between fits of giggles, which must have hurt his own injured ribs. "But at least I'm not morbid."  
"I never said you were!" I repeated in mock anger.  
"I didn't say you did, did I? I was merely making a statement--"  
I glared hard at him, gritting my teeth. "Do your `annoying' genes multiply when you drink!? I could strangle you right now--"  
"No you couldn't."  
"Yes I could!"  
At my seemingly undying insistance to prove that I was stronger than everyone saw me, Simon finally opened his eyes and lifted his head from my chest, smiling widely as he leaned forward and taunted me only inches from my face, "So do it! C'mon, then, take me out like you know you want to, you won't be able to--"  
And so ensued the wrestling match of the century - er, or, well, as much of a wrestling match as one injured and drunk Scotsboy and one miniscule spaz could have whilst tangled in a dirty duvet. I fought valiantly to crawl on top, to get my hands around his throat like I'd threatened - but it was pointless: even wasted and in pain, I was no match for the (only slightly!) larger boy.  
But we were both passionate about our attempts - so much so that by the time he finally landed me on my back, straddling my hips and holding my arms down by the wrists, we were both panting heavily and glaring each other down like the worst of enemies... despite the twisted grin on his lips.  
And that's when I saw my opening - vaguely, in the back of my head... as the rest of my mind was suddenly taken over by the unusual - and erotic - position we were in. As he held me down like the meek little captive I was, I couldn't help but notice... well, how _strong_ he was. The muscles in his arms, how they flexed and flowed with every movement, was mesmerising; for how lean he seemed, he was nothing like the frail little twig I was - and in an enticing way, I rather enjoyed being forced down the way he controlled me.  
My eyes, once locked with his own, drifted downward slightly, caught the straining muscles in his neck and chest, which was visible thanks to the torn shirt - and in seeing him in this position on top of me, I felt the fight and play dissipate from my body, slipping away easily as I felt something stirring in my groin that I hadn't ever expected to feel for... _him_.  
But hey, if he could blurt out quite simply that he found me attractive (in so many words), why couldn't I accept that... maybe it was an understandable turn-on to have a (oh, come on, admit it) bloody _hot_ guy like that practically riding on top of me?  
I suppose I was still and silent for so long that Simon couldn't help but take notice of the awkward position as well - he paused in his struggling to eye me up heatedly, the grin fading slightly as he saw me watching him. I could feel the tension between us building by the second, filling the entire room, and within half a minute, I felt him leaning some of his weight back slightly, shifting his hips just so, until I could feel the warm pulsing of his own arousal against my own...  
It took all I had in me to use this opportunity to my advantage - not do what my hormones were telling me, but playing fully to my childish side; I locked eyes with him again, and started lifting my chin, my head, nudging forward to inch closer to his open mouth. His eyes widened slightly more, but he didn't pull away as I brushed my lips over his...  
And just when I knew he was off his guard, startled by my own daring, I yanked my hands out from under his own and let them fly for his neck, dead-set on winning this fight--  
"_Stop it!"__  
_His shout was so sharp, so unexpected, that I instantly jerked back, as if he'd bitten me. In a split second, he'd gone from being hypnotised by my stare to groping madly at my wrists, batting them away in a panicked flurry as he lurched and twisted away from me. He sounded so unlike himself all of a sudden, I almost didn't believe that the voice had come from his throat - but I knew it had. Immediately, I pulled my hands back, trying to sit up as he scurried away from me. Dread filled my gut as I realised he wasn't play-fighting anymore - nor was he entranced in a lustful look. Instead, he was huddling backwards, away from me, still flailing wildly at hands that were no longer there.  
"W-What?..." I stammered breathlessly, my heart racing in my chest. "I thought... We were just messing about--"  
But when I dared to move forward a bit to reach out to him, his fist connected with my forearm and shoved it away.  
"Don't touch me!" he shrieked, his voice uncontrolled.  
I blinked in shock, pulling back quickly. "Si, I didn't mean to--"  
He held out a hand steadily, panting as he covered his face with the other. "Don't fucking to--"  
And I made the stupid mistake of reaching out again, taking the hand that lingered between us...  
In a matter of seconds, my world was twirling and twisting around me, the force of his shove so severe that I flinched to the point of not even feeling it when I hit the floor. I somehow managed to land moderately safely, but the shock that he'd actually lashed out to that degree, physically pushing me away so severely that he'd shoved me off the bed...  
After a few moments of trying to recover myself, I looked up the form on the bed, half expecting him to come lunging down on me again and pummel me mercilessly.  
But Simon wasn't near the edge at all; when I hurriedly got back to my feet, I saw him sitting curled on the bed near his pillow, hugging himself and raking his hands through his newly blood-stained hands - whatever wound he had there, he'd reopened it in his fit.  
I stood above him uneasily, unsure of what to do - frightened he might try to hit me again...  
All I could manage was a weak, "Something _did_ happen tonight, didn't it?" My breath coming in short, sharp spurts, my heart still racing from the start...  
But when he spoke, his voice was so shaky, so broken, that I couldn't see how I was afraid of him.  
"...I couldn't... I couldn't..." He stopped trying to speak, then, only covering his face with his arms, shoulders shaking violently.  
Cautiously, I crept back onto the bed, inching towards him as carefully as I could manage. "Simon," I whispered, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. When he let me touch him without responding violently, I dared to slide my fingers to his cheek, urging his head up. "Simon, look at me – what hap--"  
He didn't try to hit again, but threw my hand from his face sharply, shouting fiercely, "_Fuck off! I said I don't--"__  
_And when he trailed off, only his ragged breathing could be heard in the room. I swallowed hard, trying to think of what to do or say to ease his panic, to get through to him. His eyes wide and shining, he glared at me as if seeing a monster in front of him, some horrific creature from those fantasy books he always read... He wasn't seeing me at all.  
"...S-Simon?"  
But it didn't matter; in the next second, he was toppling forward, his eyes rolling shut as he passed out into my waiting arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Lesson 12: How To Forgive And Forget

Rating/Warnings: R, for slash, language, angst. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is always welcome!

Disclaimer: Untrue.

Matt:

So much for catching any sleep.

After Simon collapsed finally from his obviously draining night, all I could do was sit beside him in bed and check to make sure he was still breathing every five minutes. I tried to wake him a few times, but all I managed to get out of him was a rare resounding snore, before he settled back into his usual slow, heavy breathing.

At least the few hours of sleeplessness provided me with the time to think a bit more clearly about some of the things that were bothering me. Seeing my roommate in such a state reminded me that - whatever had happened to him - there were worse things to deal with than confusion, mixed emotions, miscommunication. I actually tried for once to look at Dom's side of our fight, the endless possibilities - or endless troubles - my stubborn insistence could bring both of us. I considered Simon's words as well, his overall attitude, and finally, as day broke and my withering dry eyes remained locked on his curled, slumbering form, I came to some conclusions of my own.

Simon unknowingly helped additionally when he shifted slightly in his sleep, his torn shirt being pulled back mroe ever time to expose his firmly muscled chest, and I couldn't keep myself from letting my hazy mind drift back to the look of surprise in his mirrored blue eyes as I'd leaned in to him - and the fact that he hadn't pulled away or tried to stop me... the rather flippant comments he'd made (but obviously meant) about finding me... well... attractive...

I let myself daydream for a bit, as the sun climbed higher and my fingers stroked through his sweaty hair languidly, about all the things I could possibly have been missing out on, if I'd decided on a lifelong "mate" at this tender age...

By the time the sun shone through the window, though it was still early, I decided there was no point in putting off the rest of the day. I got up and showered before everyone else, dressed and brushed my teeth while everyone else was still crawling out of bed, and - after popping a few more of those pills (what the hell? They had caffeine, right?) - headed off to breakfast all by myself.

Since I was ahead of the rest of the school, then, I seemed to take the infirmary nurse off-guard when she showed up for her shift to find me waiting there for her already.

Well, I wasn't about to let my friend's precious brain possibly swell to a dangerous degree and not do a damn thing about it, now, was I?

I couldn't very well tell her he'd been out late the night before - but then, I couldn't tell her much of _anything_, considering I had no clue what had happened myself. I merely informed her that it appeared my roommate had taken a nasty spill, but was too stubborn to seek help himself; I mentioned the possibility of a head injury, and the likelihood of needing to be excused from classes. She remarked that I looked like I could benefit from the same treatment, but by then I was too buzzed, too _awake_ to take advantage of the suggestion.

"I just stayed up to make sure he was okay," I assured her. "I don't think it'll be necessary for me."

She promised she would go to check in on him, then, and warned that if I began to feel weak or uneasy, to visit her and she would excuse me for the rest of the day. She seemed pleased, actually, that I'd had the sense to come to her at all, and had kept my vigil by his side "all night." (She didn't need to know it had only been about two hours...)

The rest of the day went by in a haze, like I was walking through a dreamworld. Even the sight of Dom and his worried, withdrawn face didn't get to me as easily as I thought it would have the night before. Suddenly, our little squabble felt like just that to me: a meaningless tiff, two petty, uncertain boys arguing over principles and perspectives, when there were far worse and mroe complicated issues going on in the world at the same time.

_"Wars breakin' out, people dyin', geniuses drowning in wine..."_

The memory of Simon's slurred response to my nosey digging brought a delirious smile to my own face, and that's how I approached Dom during our first period of class together.

"Hey, Dom," I greeted him easily, obviously startling him with my unexpected friendly mood.

"Hi," he answered, watching me warily. "Um... What's so funny? You... okay?"

I laughed off his concern as I lounged lazily in my desk chair. "Fine," I assured him, and as the teacher began taking role, I whispered to him, "We'll talk later, but, just so you know - I really _am_ fine."

I raised my hand as my name was called, completely aware of Dom's puzzled gaze on me; but he must have taken my words to heart, because he eventually smirked and shook his head, uttering back, "Whatever you say, mate." 

Apparently, Simon's words the night before had been more true than I'd imagined: things didn't just stop because Dom and I had a disagreement. The world kept spinning, and others' lives kept moving on without our input.

This became evident at lunch, when Dom joined me at our usual table and I tried to inform him of my epiphany.

Before I could get a word out, however, Chris came and seated himself beside Dom, as he usually did, this time moaning about the fact that we hadn't had a mock battle in ages.

"I could really use the chance to get out some aggression," he mumbled into the day's mystery meat before shoving a forkful thoughtlessly into his gaping mouth.

"Talk to Simon," Dom suggested. 'I'm sure he'd be up for it again if others showed some interest..."

"Ah, maybe not," I put in hesitantly, glad to have a segway into my explanation of why I was suddenly okay to be around my two oldest mates without any drama. "Might have to hold off on that for a bit."

The other two looked back at me curiously, and I set myself up for a launch into as vague a reason as I could muster to cover up for Si - and to get onto my _real_ explanation.

But I was cut off again when I noticed another presence among us, and glanced up as a soft voice asked, "Um, is it okay if I sit here?"

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, I glanced up behind me to see Patrick standing there uneasily, his tray held in one hand while the other gripped his backpack strap.

I blinked in surprise, then looked to the other two for approval. Dom seemed as innocently baffled as I was, and merely shrugged.

"Uh, I dont' see why not," he answered slowly, eying me up carefully for my reaction before we both turned to Chris.

"Yeah, sure," I said, eyes drifting to Chris as I inched over to make room before he even gave his answer. "No problem, Tricky..."

"Thanks," Patrick smiled, easily sliding into the seat next to me.

But there was a distinct discomfort that came over the table then, and exchanging glances with Dom, I suspected it had nothing to do with _us_ (for once).

I finally looked more carefully at Chris, noticing he'd stopped eating and was staring down blankly at his as-yet-unnamed meat. I say "blankly" because his expression was so hard to read that I couldn't think of an accurate description, but within a few moments, I saw his cheeks inexplicably turning bright red.

"Hope y'don't mind me butting in," the American said in an apologetic tone. "But, well, I kinda hoped I could, y'know, talk to you guys for a minute about something..."

Dom and I looked to each other again, both clueless and shrugging nonchalantly.

"Yeah, sure," Dom told him easily. "What's up?"

Patrick hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, then smiled vaguely as he asked, "How did you two first, um... discover that you... uh..."

Before he could even finish asking his question, Chris suddely stood from the table, seeming breathless and jittery. Without making eye-contact with any of our curious gazes, he mumbled into his chest, "I, uh, forgot I had to, uh... do something..."

And with that pathetic excuse, he picked up his tray, marched straight for the trash bin, and disposed of his virtually untouched lunch - before heading directly out of the cafeteria doors.

"Wow," I mused as I stared after our large friend. "Mystery meat must be _really_ bad today if even _Chris_ won't finish it."

Which earned me an unexplained whack over the head from Dom. When I gaped at him for such a radical action, he merely gestured with his head to my side.

I finally looked over to see Patrick huddled over his tray, a fist pressed against his pursed lips.

"Hm. Maybe being subtle isn't my forte," he mumbled, then smiled sheepishly at the two of us. "Sorry, guys. I didn't mean to chase him away..."

Not catching on, of course, I asked stupidly, "Who, Chris? Aw, don't worry, mate - there's somethin' weird goin' on with that bloke, I dunno what's bugging him lately..."

Which got me another slap.

"_Ow!_ Would you stop that! You nearly made me drop my peas!"

But Dom was giving me his wide-eyed _Shut up, you stupid cunt_ look, and I did so immediately, figuring he probably had a better idea of what was going on than I did. Maybe he'd let me in on it later if I was a good boy.

"No," Patrick was saying. "I think it was me. He probably feels embarrassed or something - but I don't think he should, really... But maybe he just doesn't want to talk about it just yet."

"Talk about what? Oh, is it somethin' to do with that bird he's all hot over? _**OW!**__**Dom!**_** Would you stop hitting me already, bloody hell!"**

Patrick sat back in his seat, smiling at me in pure amusement. "Damn. Is this an abusive relationship here?"

"Could be," Dom muttered morbidly as he eyed me up coldly. "Could be much worse, though..."

"He gets off on hurting me," I insisted with a prize-worthy pout, childishly rubbing my sore arm. "You should call domestic services for me, Tricky."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he chuckled - in such a way that led me to believe he was just humouring me... "But first, maybe you guys can help me out - what d'you think it means when another guy kisses you?"

I didn't even register Dom's choke as he jumped at the outright give-away.

In fact, I was so distracted by my own good mood (probably thanks mostly to those bloody pills) to really _hear_ the give-away.

"Depends," I answered without thinking. "Could mean he's hot for you, or it could just mean he's really drunk." I smirked coyly at Dom and nudged his foot under the table. "Eh, Dommyboy?"

Dom shot me a threatening look - either he was infuriated at me for making light of our own personal issues, or he was stunned I could be so dense.

At the time, I took it as the former, and chuckled to him, "Aw, it's okay, Dom. I'm not mad anymore. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I've been thinking about what you said, and you're right, y'know? We _are_ still quite young 'n all, and even if I feel like I'm in love with you, I shouldn't tie you down so absolutely like that right away. So, if we just want to hang out, say we're, like, just _dating_ or something for right now, I don't see the harm in that. We don't have to be exclusive, and we don't have to go telling everyone - it's no one else's business, really, is it?

"But to just cool it off a bit, that's fine with me. Y'know I love you as a person, and if we end up together forever, then the end of forever is when we'll say that. And until then, we'll just take it as it comes, yeah? Enjoy our youth, have fun while we have the time. Right?"

I suddenly stopped, pointing a pea-skewered fork at his face. "Oh - but no more clever avoidance of me or brushin' me off in front of everyone else because you're embarrassed - obviously everyone knows we've done it, and some may think we're bona fide lovers at this point. But I don't like being ignored like that - if I get too clingy, just let me know to back off a bit. I just don't want to go another two months without my study partner, okay? And if we end up fooling around more than studying, that's fine too. We don't have to be all lovey-dovey, but if you have feelings for me, what's the harm in acting on them? I won't mind, is all I'm saying - as long as you don't go laughing at me behind my back with other friends, then. You don't have to call me your boyfriend - but don't deny you like havin' sex with me either. Okay?"

Blimey; had Simon sneaked into my brain while being unconscious and taken control of my thoughts? I wondered.

And as I continued to impolitely slop peas easily into my mouth as I talked, I noticed Dom's harsh glare slowly morphing into a softer, grateful gaze as he watched me. When I finished, he couldn't help but smile ridiculously at me, his eyes holding the familiar hopeful glint in them that I'd seen for the first time all those months before.

"Matt," he started, and I paused in my chewing to raise my eyebrows at him.

Dom stifled a giggle and threw a napkin at me. "God, you're such a pig! Clean yourself up, will you!?"

I did so - but not without glancing back and forth between him and Patrick, who were both laughing at me. "_What?_" 

When I got back to the room after classes, I was feeling strangely wired and hyper. Not even the sight of poor Simon sitting up in his bed, still with his black eye and weary face, could drag me down. It helped that, despite his appearance, he smiled when he saw how jovial I was.

"Sleep well, my dear?" I asked upon my entrance.

He grinned knowing back at me. "Aye. Almost all day, in fact. And you? Made up with Dom, did you?"

I tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal as I tossed my books and bag onto my bed and flopped into the chair at my desk to face him. "In a way, I guess. We cleared up a fwe things. I'm hoping the _real_ make-up session will come tonight, though," I added with a sinister grin as I leaned over to hand him his missed assignments sheet.

Simon laughed and took the paper from my hand, glancing over it quickly as I studied him furtively.

"So," I started, "what did the nurse say?"

"Mm?" He tore his eyes away from his sheet to glance at me. "Ah - nice touch there, by the way. Thanks for that, mate. She said I'm okay, just some bumps 'n bruises. Had a bit of a fever earlier too, but that broke 'round lunch. She said I"m to stay in bed tomorrow too, as I'd probably recover faster from a fall like that without pushin' meself to get to classes on time. I'll be okay by Friday."

I nodded as I leaned forward, holding my chin in my palms. "Um... What fall?"

Simon averted his eyes to his assignments again - pretending, it seemed, not to hear me. "Eh?"

"What fall?" I asked more clearly.

"Oh - she said you told her I fell. I just kinda went with that story."

I nodded again, took a deep breath - and then dared to ask him again, now that he was fully conscious and much more lucid, "So, uh... What _did_ happen last night?"

He kept his eyes low, the grin still lingering on his pale face.

"Eh?" I urged. "Are you ready to talk about it now?"

Simon let out a small snicker, looking at me quickly. "There's not much to talk about, mate. Sorry, I know you'd like to know why I was such a wreck 'n all, if just to have a reason behind helpin' me out, but..." He laughed airily, shrugging his shoulders in a helpless manner. "I don't remember what happened, actually."

I blinked at him, stunned. "You... don't remember?"

He shook his head, smile fading a bit. "I guess it was all the alcohol, I just... I just draw a blank now if I try to think about it."

I stared at him silently, watching for some hint of an attempt to cover up the truth so he wouldn't have to tell me. When I found none, I asked hesitantly, "Then... you don't remember... what happened with us?"

He tilted his head to one side, peering at me curiously. "Us? What about us?"

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to utter, "You pushed me... off the bed... You were, um... You seemed really scared." Leaving out the part where I'd tried to kiss him.

He furrowed his brow, a pained expression slowly coming over his face. "I did that? Did I hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm fine," I assured him. "Just a little bump on the head - no more brain damage than usual, mate."

But his smile was gone now, and he just shook his head slowly. "No, I... I don't remember that... I'm really sorry, mate - whether I hurt you or not, I know you were just tryin' to help..."

Though I kept on giving him that reassuring grin, I felt the wind being knocked from my sails - not even a flicker of a memory, of how we'd nearly tasted each other for the first time...? Oh, curse me and my romantic babble...

"It's all right," I told him firmly. "I guess you just... had too much to drink. All's forgiven, of course."

He smiled weakly at my insistence, but I couldn't help, as I headed toward Dom's room to recommence our "studying," feeling a bit sad that whatever intense moment I'd shared with my roommate was nothing but a forgotten black space in his mind.

Though to be honest, despite his excellent poker face, there was a large part of myself that refused to believe that he'd forgotten _everything_ about that night; I doubted he would ever tell me on his own - but whatever secrets he was keeping, whatever had caused his injuries, I found it hard to believe that the boy who'd cowered away from me so desperately early that morning could ever forget what he'd seen.

For almost a full week, Dom and I slipped back into our "lovebirds" mode, spending every waking moment together, fighting over random absurdities, studying impossible chemistry lessons, verbally working out mysteries of life, making fun of each other's quirks – and messing about in other physical ways as well. It was as if we'd never fought in the first place. It made me wonder why we'd had any troubles at all, and I came to the conclusion that Simon was right after all – just living in the moment, enjoying it for what it was presently, was all Dom wanted or needed. Any thought of a future or a commitment was too much for him to grasp yet – so maybe he would just need a little more time.

And then came the catalyst which started me on my own long road to questioning what it was _I_ really wanted.

It was a Tuesday; I remember vividly because Simon was called out of Chemistry class not long after we'd started lab, leaving poor Takeshi, his partner, alone to handle another dodgy experiment we all suspected Dr. House was just _praying_ one of us would screw up so he would have one less idiot to deal with.

When Simon never returned, Dom and I decided after class to go looking for him – a feeble excuse for the two of us to go on a rampage around campus and try to "desecrate" every empty room we came across.

Hardly a daring endeavor, as barely any rooms were empty at that time. So we took it a step further and made it more exciting by trying to see how far we could get in places that were still occupied by other people...

Our most successful jaunt was in the library.

Sneaking off to the non-fiction section in the back, I was still a bit anxious over nearly getting caught in the gymnasium by Mr. Samson – not the most playful or understanding former soldier to play flirtatious schoolboys around.

"Dom," I hissed, all too aware of how quiet the librarian liked to keep her dwelling. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Of course not!" he giggled back, dragging me along by the arm excitedly. "That's the whole _idea!"_

I cringed at his initial answer, so as we reached the very back wall and he turned to me with that wide, enticing grin, he amended, "It's safest here – no one reads non-fiction anyway--"

"_I_ do--"

"Not more of your bloody conspiracy literature, okay?" he begged, reaching for my shirt and tugging it up out of my trousers. "C'mon, we'll be fine, I promise," he whispered to me, leaning in close to nibble at my earlobe.

I couldn't help but the faint sigh that escaped my lips as his teeth and tongue danced along my skin gingerly, teasingly, and I found myself reaching for him, smiling my goofy smile as he made his way to my mouth.

"Unless, of course," he added mischievously as his hand sauntered under my shirt to graze my belly, "you _want_ to have spectators." There was a devilish gleam in his eyes as he proposed this new idea. "I'm sure we could find some takers--"

"Mmf!" I protested, slapping his arms. "Don't even--"

"Think about it?" he finished, his tongue snaking out to trace my lower lip. "Why not? It's fun to imagine, isn't it?"

I chuckled at his warped suggestion, letting his mouth close hungrily over mine as he pressed his hips into me and groaned softly.

When he tore his mouth away, it was only to nod his head forward and whisper tantalizingly, "I can't imagine anyone wouldn't find the sight of you naked to be anything but absolutely gorgeous--"

I hiccupped as one of his hands managed to slip its way down my trousers, scrambling under my boxers to reach for my steadily hardening cock.

"Dom," I breathed, but he silenced me with another kiss, full and heated, tasting me thoroughly and swallowing my moan as his fingers curled around me, squeezing gently as he stroked.

"You want me to?" he asked against my lips, breathless and eager. "Right here?"

I nodded shakily, my typical inhibitions taking a backseat to my suddenly lustful need for some kind of release.

Without anymore words, Dom immediately dropped to his knees, fumbling with my clothes to get my trousers down just far enough. Within moments, my pulsing member was enveloped by the sweetest, warmest sensation, sliding over his tongue as his hands clutched my hips, keeping me from thrusting too far too fast. My head snapped back instantly, and I gasped at the wondrous feeling of being nearly gulped down whole as his mouth began working around me, teeth barely grazing my heated flesh as I felt the vibrations of his groan travel up my cock, shooting straight to my groin.

A shuffle of someone further down the aisle on the other side of the bookcase made me bite my lip, tensing when I thought we'd been caught. Eyes wide and searching, I tried desperately to find where the possible peeper was – but was pleasantly distracted when Dom's fingers found my balls and started massaging them fervently. I choked down a whimper and let my head loll to the side, felt him pull back a bit.

"C'mon, baby," he whispered encouragingly to me. "You can do this, let everything else go..."

I closed my eyes, letting the possible humiliation of being caught morph in my mind into something completely different – a thrill, the danger in being seen, the added giddiness to my already arouse state heightening the sensation when he breathed heavily onto my throbbing erection.

"Come in my mouth, baby," he urged me with a flick of his tongue. "I want you to, I wanna taste you.."

Dom had never said those things to me before, and the fact that he was saying them now, in a situation where we _could_ have been caught – when all that time I thought he'd been ashamed of it – it made my brain go fuzzy with delirium. When he took me back in his mouth again, I couldn't help but yelp, instantly slapping a hand over my mouth when I heard my own voice echoing throughout the library.

But Dom didn't give me a chance to panic over that slip – he suckled me fiercely, fingers digging into my bucking hips again, pressing and caressing me, moaning softly as I thrust into his mouth repeatedly. The burning spark deep inside of me twisted, bringing me to a rigid, tense edge – and then I felt the tension snap, and I threw my head back, gasping sharply as my orgasm overwhelmed me. I could barely suppress my voice as I came in his mouth, and he didn't stop lapping at my cock until I was standing there with legs like jelly, fighting desperately to regain my composure as he redressed me.

Finally, he stood to my level again, licking his grinning lips and chuckling softly.

"Now _that_," he murmured as he brushed his lips over mine, "is what I call an achievement."

I never thought a blowjob in a school library would be such an invigorating feat, but as Dom and I scurried out of there (red-faced and giggling mysteriously to anyone else's curious glances) and headed back to the dorms, I felt downright intoxicated. I'd never done anything of the sort, obviously, having been such a studious bookworm most of my life. And whatever he wanted to call us – friends with benefits, mates with bonuses, boyfriends, lovers – that had certainly been a bonding experience.

So wrapped up in our own silly endeavors, we were laughing all the way up to the third floor, recalling the remarkably still-fresh moment in our eager minds.

"I thought you were gonna lose it when you nearly shouted like that," he snickered, nudging me in the arm.

"Well, Christ, you were practically _trying_ to make me!" I shot back, pushing at him in retaliation. "What'd you expect!?'

We were still laughing when we barged into my dorm room, pinching each other and me trying to dodge his deliberate snog-attacks.

So when I saw Simon standing by his bed, an open suitcase in front of him, I was rather startled.

I came to a full stop in the middle of the room, my laughter subsiding gradually when I took in the scene. Dom followed suit, pausing by my side and falling silent.

"Hey, Si," I said, trying to sound chipper despite the eerily cold atmosphere of the room, and tried to peer around his arm as he tossed some clothes into the suitcase. "Uh... What's goin' on, mate? Goin' somewhere?"

"Aye," he answered – but once again, his voice came out in such a way that convinced me someone else was speaking for him. He sounded flat, lifeless, completely unlike himself.

The strange sense of foreboding began to build, then, from the first syllable of his few stated words – building like a dark puddle in the center of my gut. I swallowed hard, trying to get my breath back from the walk – and the laughter. "Where... Where ya goin'?"

His movements were slow, as if he were in a daze. He didn't turn to look at us as he reached for some folded shirts and put them in the case with the attention of someone very involved in their complicated actions.

"Gotta... go home..." he said vaguely, sounding weak, distant.

Immediately, I tensed even more – all sorts of possibilities began floating through my head at such a rapid speed, I could only grasp one at a time to consider, causing my breathing to grow ragged again.

Had someone found out about him sneaking out at night? That must have been it, I decided – the nurse, she must have noticed... She's probably smelt the alcohol on him the day I'd sent her over to check on him...

This was my fault... He was being sent away... because of me and my stupid attempts to help...

Feeling the puddle inside my belly drifting wider, yawning hugely to expand to a crippling degree, I felt the giddiness from only minutes before dripping away; my breathlessness now was out of sheer panic – guilt, regret... desperation to change this, whatever it was – whatever was taking him away from m--

No. From _us_.

I groped for his arm, partly to try turning him toward me, and partly to keep myself steady.

"Home?" I gasped, trying to look into his hair-covered face, to read what was really going on. "But why? What happened? Did they find out about... Y'know... Why're you being sent home? Are you... Did they..." I gulped harshly and squeaked out, "..._expel_ you?"

But when he looked at me finally, the shadow on his face much darker than any foolish disappointment that would result from one of his usual silly antics, it was with that same stunned, blank expression I'd seen the week before, in that moment he claimed he couldn't remember: that starkly terrified, yet resigned stare into nothingness. Looking straight at me, without actually seeing me; looking right through me, to whatever horror truly lay in front of him. No tears, no sorrow, no _real_ feeling whatsoever. Just the pure, cold shock of grim reality.

"My mum," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "...She died."


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Lesson 13: How To Cheat Death

Rating/Warnings: language, slashy hints, angst, etc. Same old same old with me. (Pre-revision)

Feedback: is most welcome of course!

Disclaimer: Not true. 

"_Hey Si?"_

_"..."_

_"Simon."_

_"..."_

_**"SIMON!"**_

_"Aye, aye, I'm up, I'm up...whu...Why'm I up?"_

_"Hey. Si?"_

_"Tch...'S not even mornin' yet, man..."_

_"I know, I'm sorry, I just...I needed to talk..."_

_"...What is it, mate?"_

_"Are you... Are you afraid to die?"_

_"..."_

_"Si?"_

_"You woke me up... to ask me that?"_

_"It's just... somethin' that bugs me sometimes. Sleepless nights..."_

_"This is what Valium is for, mate."_

_"But, like... All that stuff you were sayin'... earlier tonight... about diseases and time... Doesn't it ever bother you? The whole `death' thing?"_

_"...Aye... When I was a wee boy, I stopped eating for a while. Telt me mum it was 'cos I didn't wanna grow up 'n die. But that was ages ago."_

_"And now?"_

_"Now... I'm more afraid of not bein' _**_here _**_than I am of death itself. That 'n how it'll happen. I don't like pain. At least, I don't think I do..."_

_"Right enough. What if, after you die, there's just... nothing?"_

_"...Then there's nothin'."_

_"And that's it?"_

_"For the dead, aye. If what happens is nothin' at all. But... sometimes I... I wanna believe... I _**_have _**_to believe there's more... But sometimes I fill up with an empty sense that... there isn't."_

_"It's quite sad to think like that... but I know what you mean."_

_"Mmm. Really wish I knew."_

_"...D'you think we're strange for thinkin' 'bout this stuff? I mean... I feel like we shouldn't worry so much, but... I get the sense you've thought about it as much as me."_

_"Mmm..."_

_"Why d'you think that is? I don't have any real reason to think about it so much... 'cept that I'm paranoid... D'you think there's somethin' wrong with us for it?"_

_"...Nah. You're awright, mate."_

_"What about you? Why're you so caught up in disease and death and the like?"_

_"...Doesn't matter. No reason, I guess. But... I don't think you're strange for it."_

_"Really?... Then I guess I think you _**_are."_**

_"Ha!... Go to sleep, Bells."_

Matt:

The air in the room was still, as still as my heart when he spoke those words. Not even the noise from the other kids outside could stir the heavy atmosphere. It was fair to say I was startled - something so sudden, so out of the blue like this...

I finally let out a breath, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. I tried to say his name, but Simon didn't hear my strangled whisper; he only continued with his slow packing, a zombie moving stiffly on autopilot.

"Happened this mornin'... Early... They said it was... quiet. Peaceful... I gotta... go home..."

I caught my breath enough to find my voice again, asking quietly, "Simon, how did - how did it... what happened?"

"The guys," he interrupted me, as if he hadn't heard my question. "They wanted to have a battle today... I said okay before, but... I gotta go home... I don't wanna let 'em down, though, so..."

I shook my head, staring blankly back at him. "Simon, the battles - why are you even--"

"You gotta go, Matt," he told me, his voice strangely steady and firm as he closed his suitcase. He turned to me again, his eyes wide and set on me pleadingly. "You gotta... promise me... you'll protect the castle."

I blinked; at a time like this, _that _was all he was concerned about?

No - it was all he could focus on, I realised grimly. All he could occupy his mind with, so he wouldn't have to think about...

"Simon--"

His hands reached for my arms, gripping me tightly - to the point of pain. He had no idea how fiercely he held me, his eyes shining intensely as he begged, "Promise me."

All I could do, under that stoic gaze and in that awkward moment, was nod shakily at his request. "I promise." My voice coming out like a scratched record.

He slowly let go of my arms and heaved his suitcase off the bed, trudging to the door in a daze.

"I gotta go," he mumbled, more to himself than to me or Dom. "Me dad'll be here soon... to get me... Just... protect the castle... It'll be okay, 's long as that's safe..."

I tried to assure him once again that we would, but I didn't even get to finish before he was on the other side of the closed door.

And for a long, indescribable moment, I stood there, dumbfounded, staring after him like I'd just seen a ghost.

Finally, Dom broke the silence with an equally confused breath: "Jesus..."

His voice seemed to break through the barrier of shock in my mind, then, and suddenly my brain was grinding back into full gear.

"Where's Ben?" I asked him, still staring at the closed door.

"Eh?"

I turned to Dom, feeling alert and jittery. "Ben - and James. They... They'd wanna know, wouldn't they?"

Slowly, Dom started coming around to my thought process and nodded. "Yeah - yeah, I'm sure they would. James - he was on his way to the forest when we came in, wasn't he?"

Trying to stay calm, I swallowed hard and thought back to our walk to the dorms. "I... I think so..."

Dom must have seen how out of sorts I was suddenly, because he took my arm and urged me toward the door, assuring me, "Ben's probably in his room. Why don't you go get him, and I'll go look for James. We'll meet at the office, then. The main office. That's probably where he has to wait, right?"

His words seemed to make enough sense, so I shakily nodded my head and, in something of a daze myself, I obeyed his suggestion and headed to the twins' room.

Dr. House:

Once again, I was being lectured by my ever-growing conscience - personified as my nagging lover - on how inappropriate my typical behaviour was. This time, it was about how immature it had been for me to point out the very obvious to imbeciles who didn't seem to _see_ the obvious. So I'd made a crack about the music teacher's increasing waistline, while his hairline looked to be moving in the opposite direction - it was the man's own fault for wearing suit jackets which called attention to the widening gut, not to mention the horrific comb-over just _begging_ to be ridiculed.

Add to that the fact that he was an annoying pissant who barely knew how to blow a trumpet (he was so painfully blatant in his heterosexuality - not that I was ever a fashionable queer myself, but Clint Eastwood could've spotted him out of a lineup of potentials who had never blown anything but his own nose), let alone string a guitar, and I felt every bit as justified as I made my way to my mailbox in the main office as I had when I'd told him to his face in the teachers' lounge that he had no right to teach such an important subject to these (equally nimrod) students of ours.

"It was out of line, House."

"You tell _me_ why he doesn't know the difference between a D-string and a G-string, then - and I'm _not_ talking about one of those silly Fruit Roll-Up type concoctions I bought you for Christmas last year - which, may I remind you, you still have yet to model for me--"

James, of course, blanched at my bluntness, as we were in the vicinity of Leah, the dean's assistant and office secretery, who smiled knowingly and pretended to go about her business, sorting through the dean's mail, as we collected our own.

"Look, I'm just saying, you didn't have to humiliate the guy in front of a group of us - if you have an issue with the music instructor, talk to the dean about it - or, here's an idea, take him aside and speak to him _in private!_ I know that concept is alien to you, but it _can_ be done--"

"Oi!" I cut in sharply, glaring until his exasperated face finally turned to me.

"What is it, House?"

I pointed an accusing finger at his nose. "You threw them out, didn't you? Ungrateful slag!"

Jim could only roll his eyes in frustration - if there was one thing we both excelled at, it was avoidance, only we usually clashed on which topics to avoid.

"For Christ's sake--"

"I spent a good five bucks and ten minutes of my valuable shopping time to find just the right flavor edible underwear to get you - you should show me some appreciation once in a while--"

"You were picking on a man's _hairline_, Greg! If you think he's incompetent in his subject, attack _that_, not how much _weight_ he's put on this year!"

I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, throwing back petulantly, "You're never satisfied, Jim! Here I am, trying to show a little concern for the illusionary well-roundedness of our youth, and you still refuse to acknowledge my very _real_ male needs--"

"You're such a child, House! These kids you constantly insult are far more mature than you ever were--"

"I wouldn't stake a bet on that, actually..."

"Oh, poor you," he mocked irritably. "Always _so_ misunderstood and misconstrued - even when you're doing nothing but bullying a colleague in front of the other staff because you're really just jealous of his job - how much more unprofessional can you get!? Next you'll be sleeping with the students!"

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Only a rung or two below sleeping with a fellow teacher, no?" It was then that I found, as I flipped through my typical junk mail, the little red slip of paper with my name emblazened on it in big black marker ink. I blinked as I unfolded it, recognizing the dean's scribbled writing. My own gut would have fallen straight out my anus at the bold summoning - except that James had found _his_ red slip at the same time.

"What's this?" Jim mused as he read the message requesting his presence in the dean's office - "as soon as possible," he'd reiterated with underlines. Probably hadn't been the best idea to make a detour to the lounge to munch on biscuits and coffee while prodding the pot-pellied pig, I thought - but then, we weren't psychic...

Immediately, Jim shot me a weary look.

"What!?"

"What'd you do now, Greg? Am I gonna have to cover for you again? Why's he wanna see us--"

"I didn't do anything! That you don't already know about, that is..."

Leah noticed our shift of argument and enlightened us helpfully, "Oh, no, not to worry, sirs - it's nowt to do with you, really - it's Mr. Neil, see, the dean got a phone call this morning--"

But I was already scoffing, limping in the direction of the dean's office.

"See, so it _wasn't_ me after all, Jim - it's simply a demon of another age group - what'd he do now? Blow up a toilet in an attempt to rectify world hunger?" I paused at my own choice of absurdity and grimaced. "I shouldn't mix those two..."

"No, no," she tried to call as I reached the open doorway to the anteroom adjacent to the dean's office. "It's not like that--"

But she didn't need to go on - and thankfully, she didn't. Not to me, anyway. I could hear her whispering to James behind me, but I didn't bother trying to make out her words.

Simon sat alone in a chair outside the closed office door, suitcase by his feet and hands pressed together between his knees tightly. And the blank, white face that didn't even respond, as I stood in the doorway and sighed my understanding, stared silently at the wall across from him.

After a moment's hesitation, I gave in and put aside my usual aloof air, slumping into the empty seat right beside him. I didn't have to ask, and he didn't have to tell me. Being called out from my class just before an experiment, not returning all afternoon; the red note in my mailbox which was clearly marked as urgent; the dean receiving a phone call concerning Simon in the middle of the day; the suitcase, packed and ready - all signs adding up to one answer. But I didn't even need those other clues. The absolute absence of that gleam which _always_ resided somewhere in his mischievous eyes (whether it was shining obviously or hidden behind a veil of mysterious emotion) - that was all I needed to see to know why he looked like it was _him_ who'd died.

So I sat with him and waited. I had no clue of any details - how or when it had happened, if he was waiting there to be picked up or driven somewhere, if the twins had been told - but I sat there next to him, feeling the heaviness envelope me as I thought long and hard about the boy's rather remarkable mother. Recalling her determination to reach a clean bill of health years before, and her light laughter whenever I scolded Simon at his appointments for refusing to eat his vegetables (yes, even at thirteen), it was hard to believe that she was actually _gone_.

I drew in a deep breath, but realized after I'd done so that I had no words to say with it. So I let it out harshly and tentatively reached over to brush his wrist with my hand.

Only then did he break his silence, with a voice as hollow and flat as children I'd treated before with autism.

"You said she'd be okay. That it wasn't a big deal."

I slowly pulled my hand back, recalling our conversation on my front porch months before with a twinge of regret. Folding my hands together, I leaned over to rest my elbows on my knees, hunching forward as I let my head droop.

"Yeah, well... I say a lot of things," I grumbled back, not too thrilled that he remembered my words. He didn't sound angry - he didn't even sound hurt. Just... distant. "You wanna hate me now for it?"

I sort of wanted him to.

But the boy only shook his head, face still void of expression. "I didn't believe you, you know," he informed me plainly, no hint of sarcasm to his tone. "Even then, I knew you were wrong." He finally blinked, letting out a soft sigh. "Still... I didn't know it'd feel like this. I didn't expect... I didn't know _what_ to expect," he amended with a helpless shrug. "All the mental preparation, the knowledge that I was right, the certainty of that instinctual feeling... Not even all of that can prepare you for it, I guess."

I turned my head, hating to see the lifeless eyes beside me, but forcing myself to face him. "What were you expecting?"

He shrugged again. "Those things they talk about in psychology when you lose a loved one - the grief... I thought maybe... tears. Hysterics. Panic. Anger." He pulled his hands up and let them fall flat on top of his legs, palms up and fingers splayed thoughtlessly. "But not... this."

I nodded toward him, urging gently, "And what is `this'?"

His head tilted to one side, but eyes remained fixed on the opposite wall. "...Numb... Empty... Nothin' much at all, really... Like I'm not here right now. Like it's someone else inside me. Like it's happening to someone I don't even know. Like it's... not happening at all."

I nodded again, having to turn away from his dull eyes - it just wasn't right to see him like that, I thought childishly; it wasn't _fair_ that he had to be that way.

But I couldn't think of anything to say to him. Not then. I simply sat beside him, listening to his steady, shallow breathing, and waiting for it to sink in.

After receiving the news from the secretary, Jim was thoughtful enough to leave us alone for a bit to have our awkward "moment." Eventually, though, he came in and gestured to me with his head that he would go in to talk to the dean. He gave Simon, who didn't take any notice, a sympathetic gaze, his own eyes glistening with the sorrowful tears of someone reminscing about an old friend - however, despite the fact that they'd worked together, I'd always felt a bit closer to the Neil family than James had.

Certainly part of that sense came from the unending bores that were school faculty functions, which Jim insisted on dragging me to, where Mrs. Neil and I would commiserate over the lousy food and idle chatter while our "better halves" were off mingling and enjoying themselves. For as sweet a lady as she acted (and truly _was_ under the rough middle bit, which was covered by the forced kindness of a caring teacher), she also harboured a very strong cynical streak... which had, no doubt, been passed down through her offspring.

But, just like his mother, Simon seemed to deny his cynicism a lot of times - he knew it was there, but it was simply more _fun_ to believe the silly hopefulness of one not possessing that crutch; like with his mother's illness: he'd known the truth all along, but it had been bearable to cope with it when he ignored all the signs and pretended she would get better.

That bitter, realistic side had come out sharply back those months before, when he'd come to me for reassurance (and had found none, despite my attempts) - and unfortunately, from the looks of it, it hadn't been as easily ignored as when he'd been younger.

So when Jim made a typical remark of consolation to him, the fact that Simon didn't even look his way to acknowledge it saddened me. His head twitched a bit, only vaguely - which couldn't have been a good sign - but he kept staring at the wall, as if he would find his answers there.

If only I'd had some of my own to give him.

_"Oi, Simon?"_

_"Christ, Matt - d'you __**ever **__get to sleep on time?"_

_"I'm an insomniac--"_

_"Never woulda guessed."_

_"What're your grades like?"_

_"Eh?"_

_"Your grades. Aren't they, like, really high?"_

_"Aye, I guess."_

_"They were last year, weren't they? Top o' the class 'n all, right?"_

_"Ehm... Aye, I s'pose they were. Oh, right, I got some award or somethin', didn't I? I think... No, wait, that might've been for `most false heart attacks inflicted on unsuspecting staff members'..."_

_"D'you think you'll be our valedictorian?"_

_"Pfft. Who knows? Almost two years away, mate. Anythin' could happen between now 'n then... Though that'd sure be somethin' to make me mum smile, eh? That'd be the only reason I'd care for an award like that. Just so she could see me up there like she always dreamed... How 'bout you, eh? You ain't bad, right? Pretty high up - maybe you can be soluditorian, eh? 'Cause I won't give up the prize that easy, now you got me thinkin' 'bout it. Eh? Is it a deal?"_

_"..."_

_"Matt?"_

_"..."_

_"You embarrassed or somethin', mate? Don't be ashamed o' bein' smart--"_

_(snore)_

_"...Idiot." _

_Matt:_

When we finally got the twins rounded up and headed for the main office, my heart still hadn't stopped pounding in my ears. Ben had seemed startled when I'd told him, but not as much as I'd expected him to be. He was obviously distressed about it, but was more concerned about Simon, of course. By the time the four of us arrived at the office, Mr. Wilson was emerging from the anteroom where Simon was apparently waiting for his father, and at our immediate chatter of asking after him (mostly from the twins - I was still a bit too stunned, and Dom - well, let's be honest, as sad as the news was and as much as he liked Simon, he hadn't grown up with him, or spent the year sharing a living space with the guy), the English teacher held up his hands to quiet us and explained that Simon had asked not to see anyone else - but as he closed the door behind him, I caught a glimpse of a very familiar wooden cane resting on one of the chairs inside the anteroom.

So we didn't push the matter; we didn't leave either, however. We simply stood there in the main office, Ben pleading uselessly with Mr. Wilson to let him in, the rest of us slouching despondently into a worried silence. I didn't even realise how hard I was staring at the closed door, unconsciously willing my roommate inside to come out, until Dom put a hand on my shoulder and made a gesture with his head, like trying to urge me away from prying into others' business.

For some reason I couldn't put my finger on, this made me uncomfortable - I suddenly felt like pushing him away and telling him to leave if he wanted; but the look in my eyes must have been enough to force him to lay off, because when he saw I wouldn't budge, he dropped his hand and let me go.

I didn't know why I wanted to stay so much. But the thought of leaving, even if he didn't want to see me - it simply wasn't an option for my mind to consider.

And within fifteen minutes, the door to the main office opened, and the twins - who had been "negotiating" with Mr. Wilson the entire time - both fell silent as they looked over to see a tall, haggard-looking man in wrinkled clothes come into the room.

There was no doubt in my mind when I saw him, and it wasn't just the sad, weary face that gave it away, but the familiar sharp blue eyes that darted over us, that this was Simon's father. Come to take his son away from us.

Despite knowing what he'd been through, and despite the sympathy that automatically bubbled up inside of me when I saw how tired he looked, his eyes red and puffy and his face pale and exhausted... I wanted to attack him. To wrestle him to the ground and shout at him, refuse to let him see his son - the panic began surfacing within me, knowing that this man here was going to be taking my roommate home with him for... who knew how long?

But I kept myself in check, swallowing my own rising hysteria with the very logical thinking that I had no right to feel like this - not right now. Not at a time like this. My selfishness, my wanting to keep Simon here with me - with _us_, I meant - it would have to take a backseat to anything else. Because the boy in the other room was currently going through something I could simply not even imagine yet.

_  
_Dr. House:

The knock at the door after such a long lull of silence normally would have made even me at least twitch a little, but Simon didn't seem to hear the noise at all. Jim didn't wait for an answer to come anyway, cracking the door a bit to stick his head inside and whisper to me that Simon's father was there. When I nodded my understanding, he came through, gesturing without a word that he would let the dean know. Within moments, the head of the school was exiting the anteroom with Jim to greet the poor man and offer his condolences, while I was expected – from the hopeful glance Jim threw me before leaving us alone again – to get the boy up and moving.

At first I was glad the other two were taking on the burden of talking to the father, because honestly, even if we'd known each other before – or perhaps _because_ of that – I had little I could think of to say or do to offer any kind of comfort in these situations. Compared to the hand-shaking, quiet-voiced murmurs and kindness one was expected to portray at this sort of time, I almost preferred simply poking a mute kid in shock out the door.

But, as usual, Simon had to go and fuck up my plans. Take one simple little task and make it so much more just by being his typical weird self. Thereby making it much more to _me_, too – one of those scenes you experience that hits so hard that you can imagine having a flash of it before dying yourself one day.

I stood from the chair, leaning heavily on my cane, and Simon followed suit, hauling his suitcase up from the floor. I glanced warily over to him, to his bleak, staring eyes and sullen face, and gave a short sigh.

"Ready?"

And though his head nodded slightly, when I moved forward to the door, his feet remained planted firmly in his spot, and he uttered quietly, "No."

I paused, turning back to him in confusion. "No?"

The kid finally tore his eyes away from the wall, instantly pinning me with his desperate gaze. For once, there was a hint of tears in them, but they contrasted sharply with the timid, crooked smile that began to sneak its way onto his lips.

"...I figured it out," he said, his voice quivering in a slightly manic fashion as he dropped his suitcase to the floor. He pointed to the door in front of me, as if accusing it of some horrendous act. "If I open the door, I'll see him. And seeing him, I'll know for sure..." His breathing had slowly become erratic, and the more he went on, the more he sounded like he was gasping for air, suffocating. "If I open the door, it's like I'm accepting it, sayin' it's okay for it to be this way. I been thinkin' 'bout it now for a while, an' I think that's how it is... Openin' that door, I'm agreein' with it. Sayin' it's okay. But... it's _not_ okay," he insisted, his smile wavering once before disappearing completely.

He glared at the door as I stared back at him; he seemed lost in his own head for a while, as I tried like hell to wrap my mind around his reasoning – reminding myself that the shock of the situation probably had more to do with his babbling than his usual nonsense.

In a way, though, I could see his point – however metaphysical and logically impossible it was...

"I don't want to just let it in," he hissed at me, chest heaving with the effort to stay in control, "let it be like this. If I go home, I'll see the house without her in it, and it'll be real. But if I just stay in here, it can't reach me. It's not real, as long as I don't see him. As long as I keep that door closed."

I blinked, raising my eyebrows at him. "So you're just gonna spend the rest of your life in this room?"

He hesitated, his mouth opening a few times to respond, but all that came out was another sharp gasp.

I dared, then, to take him by the arm, tugging at him as I reached for the door handle – but as soon as I did, the kid jerked away from me, swatting me off easily as he stumbled back into his chair, gaping at the door with huge, terrified eyes. I almost lost my balance myself, steadying myself again with my cane and the support of the wall behind me. Once I recomposed myself, I noticed that Simon was sitting forward on his chair, watching the door intensely, like an animal on its guard in front of a predator.

Testing the waters, I hesitantly reached closer to the door handle; immediately he flinched, his gaze refusing to break from the threatening handle only inches from my fingers.

"Please," he whispered hoarsely, and when he looked up at me finally, the tears in his eyes risked spilling over onto his cheeks. "Don't make me let her go yet," he begged, his voice shaking as violently as the hands on his knees.

"C'mon, Si," I urged him, taking him by the elbow again and deliberately easing him off the chair, despite his attempts to stay firmly in place. "You have to face this eventually, there's no reasoning your way out of it--"

Despite the kid's remarkably better physical health compared to mine, he was in such a weakened emotional state (even if he'd seemed blank for a long time beforehand) that getting him off his ass and in front of the door was less _hard_, more _annoying_. He struggled with me the entire time, but eventually, I won out, and had him standing right in front of it, waiting expectantly for him to open that bloody door and face his bloody father.

It broke my heart to fight with him like that, but someone had to do it. And at least he trusted me enough to not lash out violently when I handled him like that.

But you know the saying of leading a horse to water...

Sadly, Simon shook his head as he gazed down at the handle.

"I'm not ready..." he murmured, his voice catching. "I can't just let myself take it so easily – if I do this, I'm sayin' I'm okay with it – and I can't... I can't do it... I can't do that to her..." His dark lashes fluttered briefly, then, his eyes rolling back a bit before closing completely. "She... She deserves more than that," he moaned, slumping forward. "She's better than all of this, you know that. With all she's ever done for me – she never gave up on me, _never_... No matter what I did... And now I... I can't just... give her up like this. She deserves better... from me... I can't do it..."

Whatever conversation he was having with himself in his mind, there was only one way I could think of to offer that comfort to him then.

"You don't have to," I told him, resting one hand on his back as my cane-wielding hand reached around him and took hold of the handle. "I'll help you."

And when the click of the latch reached his ears, Simon winced. A shaky breath later, the door was open, and his father stood in front of him, that understanding look of distress on his face, and without a word, the man took his son into his arms and held him tightly.

I couldn't make out what muffled words his father uttered to him, but whatever they were, they didn't seem to mean much to the kid; as soon as he'd seen his father's face, he'd known – and he'd reverted straight back to the emotionless shell that had just spent almost an hour trying to work out the mystery of life from a blank white wall.

And as the distraught father led him out of the office, I caught Simon glancing over his shoulder once – casting one gaze toward his friends who had been waiting all that time for one glimpse of him... and one toward me; though there was still no coy smile or smoldering glare, I didn't fail to catch the grateful spark rekindle in his eyes – his silent thank-you for my genuine caring.

Bloody little bastard – why did he _make_ me care about him so much?


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Lesson Fourteen – How To Ruin Your Weekend

Rating/Warnings: language, angst, slashy hints. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is always welcome!

Disclaimer: Untrue.

Matt:

I was let down enough by Simon's mother's death and his having to leave that I couldn't imagine playing that silly game again. But the others were insistent, and even Dom reminded me that I'd promised him we would protect his special fort, so almost an hour after his departure, I found myself trudging along behind the other three as they headed for the forest.

The battle was already underway. James and Ben plunged into it without pause, as if they just needed to get their aggression and grief out on anyone who got in their way. Dom continued on after them as he usually did: half-hearted and with a smirk of exasperation to suggest this wasn't his idea but he was humouring everyone else by playing along.

Then there was me. And really, I didn't have the heart. Instead of leaping into the fray, I climbed the "steps" to the top of the castle and sat above the melee, watching the rest of the boys carry on as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. They had no clue that our assumed ringleader was currently at the very beginning of an arduous road he'd kept from everyone he'd known for ages that he'd have to tread soon – sooner than most of us would, at that. They had no clue that as they laughed and roared and pummeled each other senseless for the sheer fun of it, I was hunched on my perch high above them, trying to calm my shaken nerves – and trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get through the next several weeks on my own.

Of course I knew Dom would be there, and Chris, and inevitably the twins wouldn't mind having a chat or two in private about what had led up to this conclusion – maybe even sharing the mutual sadness over the unexpected loss. Perhaps they could help me understand more about why Simon had kept quiet about his personal pain and chosen to not confide in me some things I would have liked to know about, him being my mate and roommie and all. I could easily imagine him saying he just didn't want to talk or think about it, but maybe they knew more than that. Maybe it was some kind of block he had to not want to trust me with that kind of information.

But mostly I was just concerned about him – about how hard he was going to take this. Not every boy our age rang their mothers on a daily basis just to talk about how she was doing, or the latest book he'd read, or to play a song he'd written to her over the phone. She'd seemed more like a best friend and mentor than a parent, even if the half-joking discipline she wielded made it clear that she _was_ his mother. He obviously adored her as a person and as a woman, telling me one night during our absurd conversations from our separate beds that he knew he was doomed to a gay lifestyle because there was no point in trying to find a better woman than her – but it would have been disturbing (even in his strange mind) to marry his own mother.

I worried constantly in those following days, unable to focus on anything else but wondering how he was holding up. I barely managed to keep up with my studies, which was unusual for me, as I preferred to stay _ahead_ of everyone else. My nightly ritual of waking him up just before he was about to drift off (when he wasn't sneaking out to get drunk somewhere, that is) to ask him the most ridiculous – or important – questions I could think of was interrupted, throwing me off mentally for the upcoming day. I'd end up blurting out a question anyway, into the dark, lonely room, and would inevitably be disappointed by the lack of response from his empty bed. In a way, though, I thought it was good to keep asking the silence, because then I wouldn't get used to him now being there, which I simply couldn't imagine doing.

Life quickly became strained and quiet the moment Simon left, but in a way, it was fitting that it would have been like that – somehow, I'd made the decision that nothing would go back to normal until he was back. I had no idea how long that would be, or why I'd decided this anyway, but... to me, it was only sensible.

Four days later, I was a wreck, and it was pretty evident to other people – even to Dr. House, who didn't look very surprised to see me when I went to his office after classes on Friday.

"Bells," he invited me in, that same dour tone he used to address every student who made it through the doors reaching my ears – even when saying Simon's silly bestowed nickname for me. "What can I do for you?"

I ignored his gesture to sit in a seat in front of his desk, lingering just behind it instead. "I heart you and Mr. Wilson are taking Jim and Ben to the funeral tomorrow."

He nodded. "We're leaving tonight so we don't have to worry about traffic making us late tomorrow. Their parents were kind enough to offer to put us all up for the weekend. Which is awfully generous of them, considering their mother's spent most of the past week at Simon's house, trying to help pick up the pieces or whatever... Get a group of idiot men together, you're bound to let things fall apart... That woman was the glue keeping them all sane – dunno who's gonna take on that burden now..."

I cleared my throat, hoping that he would be done with his muttering tirade soon, and when I realised that he would go on for hours if he could, I cut in with, "How much of a burden would..."

But when he stopped abruptly and glanced up at me, as if remembering he wasn't alone, and his eyebrows lifted knowingly, I trailed off, suddenly averting my gaze and biting my lip.

"Erm... I mean, would it... could I..."

"Matthew," he said, and I could hear the slightly crooked smirk on his face. "Are you asking permission to come along as well, or are you wondering if having you along would be too _much_ of an extra burden on Ben and James' family?"

I hesitated, shrugging. "Erm... Both, actually..."

"Well," he sighed as he shuffled around his desk and pulled on his suit jacket, "I can't speak for the twins' family, but as long as you can keep your usually rambling trap shut for the majority of the car ride, I don't see it being a problem. Be packed and ready in an hour and don't expect to have any fun all weekend – funerals tend to be quite somber occasions, as you might've guessed. We can fit you in the car, as long as you pack light. It's not my place to say whether or not you _should_ go to someone's funeral who you barely knew – that's up to you. And you'll have to check with the twins to see if their folks can keep you stashed away somewhere in their house for two nights. But for our part, Mr. Wilson and I can take you there and get you back."

I nodded quickly at his orders, surprising myself with how eager I felt to have this work out.

"I'll go and ask them straight away," I told him, and he waved at me.

"Go on then – we're leaving by five, with or without you."

I nodded again, about to rush out the door to hunt down either of the twins, but with my fingers on the door handle, I paused. Turning back to the doctor as he stuffed his briefcase cull of papers and slammed it shut, I peered at him worriedly, grappling internally with the numerous concerns in my head.

"What is it, Matthew?" he demanded, only letting a snippet of annoyance over my typical stuttering leak out.

I gnawed more at my lower lip for a long moment, trying to formulate a concise way to ask him everything I felt the urge to know – as well as voicing my own paranoia without him barreling over them with his usual dismissal of my "idiotic delusions." And none of it had anything to do with my going to the funeral at all, really.

Dr. House stopped in his packing to give me a curious gaze, realising that I was having difficulty speaking, but not for my usual timid or irritating reasons. His expression softened and he leaned on his desk.

"Matt? What's troubling you?" he asked, actually sounding sincere.

I blinked at him, hoping the desperate tears of frustration threatening to come out weren't as obvious to him as they felt to me. "Did he... He knew all along... that she was dying... didn't he?"

Dr. House drew in a deep breath, pursing his lips for a moment as he considered my question. Hesitantly, he hazarded, "He never told you about her, did he?"

I thought back to the innumerable conversations we'd had in the past several months, recalling his reluctance to get too detailed when mortality was a subject I'd insisted on harping on; nothing very informative came to my mind, though, except Ben telling me later that she'd been ill for a while. He and Jim, after my queries about what had caused it, were the ones to tell me about Simon's bedside vigils with his mum years before, about how he'd given up loads of things as a kid to be able to sit with her when she could barely sit up herself. And Ben had been the one to inform me of Simon's recent fears – and then the confirmation over Christmas – of his mother's illness returning.

But hearing anything from Simon was like trying to get a bone from a dog – it just wouldn't happen unless he was the one to _want_ to tell you, and obviously it had hurt too much, scared him too much, to talk to just anyone about it. The only reason he'd confided in Ben, the redhead admits, was probably because he'd been drunk and exhausted and distraught – and Ben had simply been there at the right time.

If this hadn't happened, if his mother had survived longer, none of us – perhaps not even Ben – would have ever known about her deteriorating health.

"Not really, no," I admitted softly, shaking my head and wishing sadly that he'd talked to me about it at _some_ point. "Not about... this. Jim and Ben told me a few things, but Simon... no, he never..."

The doctor nodded slowly. "I talked to his father on Tuesday. She was ill for a long time years ago. Simon had been the only match for a bone marrow transplant, and with that and treatment, the cancer went into remission. But over summer it came back, more aggressive. They didn't tell the boys at first, because the doctors said that the tumor they found this time was inoperable. But when Simon started catching on anyway... Well, over winter break, he volunteered for another operation, but it wouldn't have mattered. The doctors had told them six months to a year, tops – back in July. By the time he found out, she was already heading downhill too fast. He thought leaving school might have made up for some of the time he hadn't known about it, but... it was their decision to keep him from knowing, not his. Because they knew what he would do – and if you've been paying attention as much as I have, you'll notice he hasn't exactly been himself lately anyway..."

My fingers around the door handle clenched; for the past month and a half, I'd wondered what had gotten into him – now, it was plain as day why he seemed to be on a path to certain self-destruction. And I wanted to kick myself for not seeing it sooner.

But, like his mother, Simon wasn't very forthcoming with this useful information...

"Basically," House sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward, "yes, he knew. Not as soon as he would've liked, but... long enough, I'd say. He wasn't going to come back at all after winter break, but his mother made him promise he would so he wouldn't miss out on anything at school – some sentimental crap about wanting him to live like a normal teenage kid or somethin'... He only agreed to it if he could go home every weekend, which was why--"

"He was barely here even when he _was_ here," I murmured, almost to myself. It was true: every Friday, as soon as the last class was over, he'd been on his way out the door, not to be seen or heard from again until practically midnight on Sunday night. And whenever classes were over during the week, he'd gone and gotten trashed away from campus anyway.

"Yeah," House confirmed, though I doubted he knew about the night-time jaunts around the city. "He's hardly been around lately anyway, huh? And I'm sure he feels all that guilt and shame over not being there when she died too – probably eating him up right now... Anyway, as you can imagine, he probably didn't like talking about it to anyone – not just you. So don't take him leaving you out of it personally. Consider it more like... he liked you too much to scare you off with his problems."

I nodded my understanding, despite his vague smirk, then winced when I thought of something else.

"Doc... D'you think... Simon will..."

"I'm sure he'll be relieved to see someone else there besides the usual suspects," he muttered, "though honestly, he may be beyond caring who shows up. In any case, I don't think it'll be a problem for you to come."

I shrugged vaguely, startled that his words did nothing to alleviate the ache in my belly. "Yeah, I sighed, "but that's not really... I don't think that's what I wanted to ask."

"What was, then?" he asked, with an unusual amount of patience.

I swallowed hard. "How long... d'you think... do kids usually miss... when something like this happens?"

He bowed his head, sniffing faintly as he folded his hands together on top of his desk. "I really don't know, Matt," he confessed, a touch of sadness actually daring to tinge his voice. "Some kids are back within a month... Some end up leaving entirely. It hasn't happened a lot since this school's been here, but it really depends on the family – and the kid. As for Simon... He and his mother..." He trailed off, staring into space as a tense look came over his face. "I don't know," he sighed finally, shaking his head. "I can't predict these things anyway – and _you_ know Simon: _you_ tell _me_ what he's thinking."

I lowered my head again, gazing despondently at my feet. The truth was, no one really _knew_ Simon, how he thought – not well enough to predict. And just when you had a feeling you got his pattern, he changed. Just to keep you on your toes – just to keep things interesting.

But _I_ wasn't _interested_ in things being _interesting_ then; by that time, my tunnel vision and frayed nerves could only concentrate on wanting one thing: having him _back_. And he hadn't even been gone a week.

On my walk back to the dorms to find one of the twins, this realisation made me wonder – just how much was I coming to depend on my friend anyway? And, more importantly, _why?_

But then even that couldn't override my instinctual urge to get him back, to assure myself that he _would_ be back – putting aside the reasons, the need itself was too strong, too consuming. So I had to put my musings to the back of my mind and worried instead over whether I would even get to see him that weekend. Somehow, I knew I _had_ to.

"_Si?"_

"_Mm."_

"_If you're awake..."_

"_I'm up."_

"_...You ever been in love?"_

"_Ha!... Ehm... I take it you and Dom have finally done the dirty deed..."_

"_Really, mate. Have you?"_

"_Ehhhm... I suppose so... Aye."_

"_..."_

"_You?"_

"_'Course. Why d'you think I'm askin'?"_

"_Well, it isn't possibly for more sex advice, now, is it?"_

"_No, no... I'm not worried 'bout that."_

"_Oh... So _is_ there somethin' you're worried about?"_

"_...Dunno... Maybe... Who was it?"_

"_Eh?"_

"_Who were you in love with?"_

"_...It's, eh, not important. Wouldn't work out – he's a sweet lad, but you can't convert everyone."_

"_...So, it's always been another boy for you?"_

"_Mmm. Aye."_

"_How did you... when did you know... you're... you know..."_

"_A while. At first I thought I fancied both, but then I noticed I tended to like girls who were a bit too butch to really count as fancying birds. One chick had a mean left hook, which I found to be quite a turn-on – 'cept she kept usin' it on me when I tried to suggest doin' it anally..."_

"_Cor, that's cold!"_

"_Aye, I know, my nose was nearly broken three times--"_

"_I meant _you_."_

"_Oh. Well, y'know... we've all got our preferences, eh?"_

"_So... when was your first time... with a guy?"_

"_Ehhm... Three years ago, I think. Just some bloke I met at a club."_

"_You were in clubs at fourteen!?"_

"_Aye, sure. Had some great shows playin'. I'd go to see a band, but inevitably ended up pissed and horny by the end of the night. Somehow managed to find some guys who were into it. Just one-off sorta things."_

"_...And... the one you were in love with?"_

"_...Eh, that took a wee bit longer."_

"_So you _have_ been with him? Sexually?"_

"_Aye."_

"_...Hm... Anyone I know?"_

"_Ehm... I'm quite sleepy now, actually..."_

"_You loser--"_

"_All I'll tell ya is, it won't work out – trust me, it just won't. Too bad for me, eh?"_

"_Why not for him?"_

"_Eh?"_

"_You automatically say too bad for `_me'_ – why be mean to yourself like that? It could be a bad thing for him too – like, he's the one missin' out..."_

"_..."_

"_I'm being serious!"_

"_I'm just waiting for you to remember who I am."_

"_..."_

"_Eh?"_

"_You may have a point. Think I just need some sleep."_

I had only ever been to a few funerals in my life by then. One had been my maternal grandfather's, before I was old enough to grasp what was going on; the other two had merely been friends of my parents. So even though I knew the routine from experience (and, well, movies), I still wasn't an expert on the code of conduct or protocol for such an event. I didn't even _own_ a proper suit, so I simply wore some nice dark trousers and a plain dark jumper. I felt severely under-dressed still, especially next to the suited Ginger Twins and their spiffy-looking folks. Bloody hell, even bloody _House_ was in an unwrinkled grim black number.

But people don't really notice or care about those trivial things when it comes down to it; they're just touched you put out the effort to come. Glad to see that, even if you didn't know the person well, you cared enough about them or the people they loved to show up and pay your respects.

But none of that was even on my mind when we got to the funeral home on Saturday morning. I had only one thing buzzing through my brain the entire time, and despite Dr. House's constant glances of disapproval and warning at me (surely for my rather unceremonious attire and constant fidgeting), all I could do whilst waiting in line to greet and offer condolences to the mourning family was bite my lip and glance around in search of Simon. I couldn't find the words to put to my reasoning, but I just knew that once I got a glimpse of him, everything that felt unsettled inside of me would calm down. Maybe this unnerving depression over him being gone would dissipate once I got a chance to see him with my own eyes, and I could go back to school feeling a little lighter, a little more assured that life would get back to normal finally.

The line to meet the family was already ridiculously long, which only reiterated in my mind that which I'd suspected all along: that Simon's mother, like himself, had been one of those people who knew so many people and touched so many lives that she probably had never had a clue how many people had been affected by her death. Countless middle-aged women were dabbing at their tearful eyes and clutching the family's hands with nothing short of sincere anguish over the loss of her, while their rattled husbands tried their best to support the grieving women. Several teenagers as well – most likely former students who had valued her as one of their favourite teachers – milled around solemnly and looked crestfallen as the knowledge sank in that someone they looked up to was gone. Many people's hushed murmurs spoke of how young she was, how it had been such a tragedy that someone like her should die too soon.

And as Dr. House shook her widower's hand, I caught the faint surreptitious whispers between them whilst they cast their glances at her sons beside them.

"...not very well," Simon's father was confiding lowly as I strained my ears to hear. "...not been eating, or sleeping, rarely comes out of his room... found him the other day in _our_ room, sitting beside the bed, like he'd done before when she was ill – just staring, like he used to watch over her when she slept..."

I glanced up at Dr. House's face, startled to see him actually looking rather serious and regretful – the kind of expression I wasn't used to seeing on him at all. Not his usual "the world is shit doom and gloom," but a genuinely somber demeanor, truly considerate.

He nodded at the distraught man and assured him quietly, "I'll try and talk to him later. Maybe I can give him something to help him sleep, at least..."

I knew they were talking about Simon, and the news that my mate was not handling the situation very well was understandable, though disheartening nonetheless – but it didn't cause me to waver at all; instead, I was even more determined to get through that line of grim faces, even if if just meant getting to his own at the end.

But I didn't have that far to go before I was finally moving past his father and brother, sidling up by the doc whilst he took the form I barely caught a glimpse of – but who certainly didn't resemble my roommate – into a rarely offered House _hug_.

Had it not been such a sad occasion, I would have died to have a camera on me at the time... Perhaps it had been an unfortunate female related somehow to the family that had gotten caught by the devious doctor – that made more sense than what it _really_ was about.

When I got my turn, I was stunned that the person I'd thought was some tiny dark-haired niece or female cousin standing in front of me, who Dr. House had just mauled, was none other than Simon himself – but a dramatically transformed Simon that I hardly recognised from the fit, stubbly bloke in ratty, holey t-shirts and a wide, conniving grin. This Simon was sickly pale, almost gray, gaunt and frigid, with a sunken, glassy-eyed stare and a weariness to him that couldn't be hidden by a clean-shaved face and combed hair tucked behind his ears. He just barely stood erect in front of me, stunning me with his pinched, withdrawn appearance, as if he'd wasted away to almost nothing within the span of only a few short – though _long_ – days. We could have been a mirror image, in fact, except I was _supposed_ to look like that; he... well, _wasn't_.

And when Simon – who seemed to be in the same predicament as me clothes-wise, as he was only dressed in a black jumper that seemed two sizes too big for him and a pair of wrinkled dark trousers that hung from his tightened belt entirely too loosely – turned to me and saw me standing there, it seemed to take him a few moments, whilst slowly blinking his dragging eyelids, to actually _see_ whoever was in front of him. It wouldn't have mattered if it was me or someone else; he simply couldn't register anything very efficiently then. I wondered briefly if Dr. House's hug had shocked him at all – but, from the looks of that dulled light in his eyes, I guessed not.

But then he finally _did_ seem to _see_ me, and he stopped cold, eyes widening and mouth hanging open slightly in a state of pure surprise. He worked his jaw a few times to say something, but nothing came out, so I cut in for him and tried to reach out to him for a hug myself. But I didn't get very far before he caught my wrist with one hand, twisting it to the side – and before I knew it, _he_ was clutching _me_, his face pressed into my shoulder as his chest heaved against me.

"You... came," he croaked out, as if he hadn't spoken a word all day.

I flinched slightly when I realised that he may have looked weaker – but all his muscles were still there, and he was probably using all of them in that moment.

"Y-Yeah," I said, uncertain of what to do – suddenly I had no clue how to hug anymore, and I timidly patted him on the back a few times. "'Course I... did... Oh no – whoa--"

And I felt myself being tugged downward, the weight on my shoulder increasing as Simon gradually started fading, falling limp against me. At first I thought he'd just stumbled – but when his arms started going slack and his brother and father started to notice, and then the twins jumped in as everyone realised I was _not_ going to be able to catch him on my own, there was no question that he'd started to faint. His brother David and Ben managed to get him upright again, but he was so white by then that his father whispered to them to take him into a private room. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do – what was the proper reaction to someone practically passing out on you in a funeral line?

Thankfully, Dr. House nudged me with his elbow and waved toward where the other two had taken Simon, raising his eyebrows at me and gesturing with his head. "Go on," he hissed before moving on to the rest of the family. "He probably wants to see you too..."

I couldn't be sure of that – but then, perhaps he'd been relieved enough to see me that _that_ had been his reason for nearly dropping over. Or he'd been so shocked that anyone else in the school even knew where Glasgow _was_...

In any case, inconspicuously brushing off the rest of the family, I hurried into the private room just as Ben came back out, his nod to me an assurance that Simon was all right – just a little overwhelmed. I went in anyway, closing the door softly behind me as I took in the sight of Simon's brother – who was surprisingly shorter than Simon, though they had a strong resemblance despite the actual furry beard and 'tache on the older bloke's face – tending to the hunched form sitting on a cushioned bench with a cup of water between trembling hands.

When I entered, they both glanced up at me, and instantly Simon's face – though still disturbingly off-color – broke into a familiar smile, even if it wasn't quite as wide as usual. David mumbled something to him, then caught my eye as he passed me on his way to the door. He patted my arm once, requesting in a hushed voice, "Jus' let 'im..." He hesitated, glancing back at Simon, then to me again, "He ain't all right, really – we'll jus' be out 'ere, eh?"

I nodded silently, wondering what that was about, but felt a bit more comfortable once he left the room and Simon and I were alone – and even then, I wasn't exactly "comfortable." I tentatively took a few steps forward, forced myself to sit on the bench next to him, tried not to cringe.

His smile faded a bit and he looked away when he saw how anxious I was. But as he sipped his water and tried to stop his hands from shaking, I remembered why it was that I'd gone there in the first place. To reassure myself by seeing him; to put things back to normal by reminding myself that he _was_ still there – just not _there_.

But I hadn't expected to find him so... unlike _Simon_. I'd been sure he'd be upset, or even crying – I could have handled that. But this... It wasn't quite what I'd expected. He practically looked like a corpse himself.

"You came," he said again, breaking the awkward silence with a husky, strained voice.

I nodded, staring down at the floor, just like he was staring into his water. "Yeah," I repeated.

"...Why?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

I glanced at him briefly, catching the baffled look on his face. "Same as everyone else, I guess," I suggested, not wanting to come right out and say that I'd needed to see him.

He smirked vaguely, eyes lifting but glaring straight ahead as he took a gulp of water. "What, checkin' up on me?" he drawled bitterly, like he resented the insinuation.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose..." But it just didn't feel right to keep my true intentions from him. He may not have been chatty about his mother, but he'd never _lied_ to me (that I knew of, anyway). Besides, it sounded as if he wasn't keen on being pitied at the moment, whether he deserved it or not. "Well, and just bein' selfish, too."

That made him sit up a bit, slightly bemused and slightly... startled. "Selfish? That's a long way – that's your whole weekend gone... an' for what?" He gestured to the door with his styrofoam cup. "Goin' to some miserable event for some person y'didn't even know--"

There was no way to avoid it tumbling out of my mouth by then: "I... I wanted to see you."

Again, he misunderstood and gave me a pleading stare, shoulders slumping. "What, make sure I'm okay? Like the others? No, I'm _not_, all right? But what else d'you want from me, eh? Me mum's just--"

"No," I interrupted sharply, taking my turn at feeling insulted. He paused to let me speak, eying me up curiously as I avoided looking directly at him. "No... I don't expect you'd be okay. Of course not. How could you be?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, shaking his head as he studied me carefully. "Then why come at all? Just a waste of time, really. For you, anyway..."

"I wanted to... No... I _needed_... to see you," I stammered, feeling strangely reluctant to tell him, even if it was just a very innocent, earnest reason. (Never mind that I still hadn't worked out the reason for myself yet.) "I needed to. For myself. To make things okay for me. But... No, I knew you wouldn't be _okay_. But that's all right. Y'don't have to be. You _shouldn't_ be. I wouldn't expect anyone to be able to take somethin' like this lightly..."

I trailed off, not knowing where to go after that, but he still needed something more tangible to hold on to, apparently; he pushed again, "So then... why? Why come at all?"

I closed my eyes, rocking back and forth on the bench for a few moments before coming to a stand-still and swallowing hard. "I had to see you," I said softly, into my lap. "No other reason. I just... miss you."

Simon was quiet as he let that sink in, then asked in an unsteady voice, "Miss me?"

I opened my eyes again, only to find him pressing his lips together tightly, forcing himself to keep from weeping as I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. However you are," I went on. "Hyper and psychotic, mopey and miserable... Either end of the spectrum would be fine, y'know, I'm used to your manic mood swings..."

He laughed out loud, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I mean it," I insisted, resting my chin on the hand on his shoulder, tapping his head with my own. "Just ain't right without you."

"What, school?" He chuckled again, this time more cynically than his genuinely touched giggle from before. "Everyone's miserable at school, mate--"

But I shook my head fervently. "No. I meant... _I_ don't feel right... without you..."

Simon sniffled, blinking his wet eyes until they focused on me, sitting right beside him, leaning on him this time – purely for revenge.

No. Not _purely_.

"I had to see you," I repeated. For myself. To feel right again. So you see – I'm just bein' selfish."

He watched me carefully, his eyes piercing me as he sized up the legitimacy of my explanation.

Finally, despite his still trembling hands, he reached up and gently rested his palm on my cheek, closing his eyes as he tilted sideways – resting his weary head against mine in a sloppy but equally needy gesture of affection.

"Good for you," he told me firmly. "Honestly... I'm glad you're here. For selfish reasons."


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Lesson 15: How To Avoid The Issue

Rating/Warnings: Not bad, maybe PG-13 for cursing, etc.

Feedback: well loved

Disclaimer: Characters not mine, fictional story, blahblahblah

Matt:

Disappointingly, my short visit with Simon was not only the one chance I got to see him all weekend, but also didn't do much in the way of alleviating my concerns. Instead I returned to the school late Sunday afternoon with an even more crestfallen sense that it would be a long time until I saw my mate back to normal again - if he was ever "normal" (or at least his version of the word) again at all.

Not only this, but when I returned to my otherwise empty dorm room, already feeling the sting of his continued absence, I was greeted minutes later by a knock on the door - and a rather confounded, irritable Dominic when I answered.

"What's goin' on?" he asked, welcoming himself into my room and closing the door behind him before I could get a word out. "You get depressed all week, then disappear without sayin' a word?"

It took me a few moments to realise that he was actually upset with me - and a few moments more to figure out _why_. And when I did, recalling the fact that I hadn't let anyone else but our RA know I was going to Scotland with the others, I felt like kicking myself.

"Oh, I... I'm sorry, Dom," I said, sincerely gutted that he had been wondering where I'd been all weekend. "I didn't... I wasn't thinking, really - Dr. House said I had to be ready to go in an hour and I didn't see you around--"

"Bullocks," he spat, hands on his hips. "I was right in my room all afternoon, you just didn't bother to check."

I bit my lip, cringing at my thoughtless mistake. I knew it hadn't been necessary to tell anyone else - but it really would have been the considerate thing to do.

"I'm sorry," I repeated miserably. "I wasn't thinking straight at the time..."

Perhaps the weariness was evident on my face, and it didn't help matters that, after such a long road trip in a short space of time, not to mention the grim reason behind it, I still had a load of weekend homework to get done before bed that night. Whatever the reason, Dom's frustration slowly dwindled, and as I stood there dumbly, scratching at my head and trying to think of some better way to apologise, he sighed and nudged my arm.

"Look, I know you meant well, for him, I mean..."

I pursed my lips; he didn't _have_ to know I'd actually gone there for my own benefit (despite that hope not turning out as I'd thought it would).

"...it's just I would've liked to know, or heard it from you, instead of spendin' all weekend lookin' for you, only to find out from our RA _this morning_ where you'd gone. But... well, it was really sweet of you to do that for Si, I'm sure he appreciated the support 'n all. But just... just try to keep me somewhere in your head next time you go off to be a hero for someone else's sake, eh?"

The slight grin he allowed to sneak out at that point gave me my first dose of relief in days, and I had to smile shyly back in gratitude for it.

"I'll try," I assured him.

"No, you _will_," he corrected. "Whether it's convenient for you or not, you'll at _least_ let me know, right?"

I gave him a ridiculous look. "Oi, what are you now, my mother? Or some paranoid lover?" I threw at him - partly as a joke... and partly not.

Dom scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. "Oh, would you stop it - it's just common courtesy, Matthew. I mean it, mate, I'm not askin' you out of some jealous urge or anythin' - there's no reason for that, of course."

I felt a twitch overtake me when he said that with just a tad too much confidence; luckily he didn't notice, though I was at a loss myself over _why_ I'd suddenly bristled at the blunt implication that there would be no reason for him to feel threatened by _Simon_.

"But just as a _friend_, eh?" he went on. "You'd feel bloody concerned if _I_ just up and disappeared one night, wouldn't you? I'd hope you would, anyway. Commitment or not, we're _mates_, pretty good ones at that - at least _I_ think so. So wouldn't it just make _sense_ to let me _know?"_

I instantly felt myself grow surly at my own reaction to his worry, and wanted twice as much as before to be able to kick myself. My shoulders slouching, I hung my head and mumbled quietly, biting back the irking question as to why he felt so sure of himself, "I'm sorry... Y'didn't deserve that. You're right, y'know..."

"Of course I am," he proclaimed haughtily. "You should listen to me more often." And he feigned flipping a handful of luxurious hair over his shoulder for effect.

Oh... bugger all this unspoken tension inside myself, I thought - he was just playing with me, keeping it light while he sincerely checked to see if I was all right myself. Wasn't just flaunting some silent knowledge that, no matter how dependent on Simon I felt, there was nothing and no one else that could break my hold for _him_; maybe that bit being more true than I liked to admit was what made me cringe when he brought it up. Proving that, no matter how much I tried to be the understanding occasional lover, maybe he _was_ right - maybe I _was_ still hopelessly in love with him, despite his own aversion to a real relationship.

Had I actually been hoping that some distracting event would jostle me out of my yearning to be with him exclusively? I wondered, floundering over the many possibilities that my recent reactions could have meant. Maybe that feeling I'd had for Simon, which I hadn't wanted to think about because it was too scary - maybe it was scary because it threatened _my_ assurance of whom I loved...

Bloody hell... Were all teenagers as fucked up as me?

Finally, I had to let it all out with one heavy, loud sigh, shaking my head and wiping my head clear before I could even come to any conclusions - how would I ever be able to move forward without taking a first step?

"No, really," I insisted seriously. "You _are_ right..."

At my somber tone, Dom met my steady gaze and smothered his grin, blinking at me as I stared back intensely.

"I _would_ be worried," I told him quietly, furrowing my brow with unnecessary concern. "I'd... I mean, God," I chuckled bitterly, waving to Simon's half of the room. "Look at how worked up I get over _him_, and I haven't known him _half_ as long as I've known you..."

He shrugged nonchalantly, but I caught a faint air of reassurance from him - had my words actually been what he'd been waiting to hear, before _he_ could feel "normal" again, with me hanging on his every precious word...?

Oh, damn - there I went again, building up some cruel resentment that had no merit...

I shook my head sadly, feeling the emotions from the past week building up inside of me and blending with the exhaustion from the trip. My damned confusing head kept harping on all these questions and uncertainties, and all I really felt like doing was... curling up in bed with his arms around me, for him to tell me that everything was all right...

But as the vision was conjured in my mind the moment I thought it, I realised awkwardly that... that "him" in bed with me was suddenly blurry, no one specific, not nearly as clear as it had been at one time...

So when I tried to get out my next words, I nearly choked on them: "I dunno what I'd do if... if somethin' happened..."

Dom saw me starting to break and immediately switched to his nursemaid mode, patting my arm and leading me to the bed to sit down. His cooing words of nonsense about how things were going to be okay and calming shushes were actually like music to my ears, and I ate it all up greedily as he told me that we were all right.

"You're just tired," he said, as if I hadn't figured it out for myself. "Everything seems to be more than it is - and with you, I already double a normal person's reaction just as a rule. Really, though, just lie down and have a kip--"

"No," I argued, though I didn't protest his actions when he gently eased me onto my back. "I've got schoolwork--"

"Which will still be there to do later. We'll get to it then, okay? There's still time, don't worry. Just get a bit of a rest right now, I'll get you up later and we'll do it together, eh?"

At that wording, I couldn't help but smile up at him, a glint in my eyes.

"Are you coming on to me? Is that a threat or a promise?"

He smirked at my bad humour and smacked me over the head - but answered airily before leaving, "Whichever you prefer."

Good, I thought; at least he could encourage my typical immature teenage obsessions, without trudging up all these rather messy adult emotions I wasn't ready to deal with. Perhaps it would be better to focus on that, I figured - no need to be mingling in adult affairs sooner than I absolutely needed to. I had no reason for it; as Dom and Si and Doc had all advised me before: just live for the moment, enjoy my youth, no reason to get so caught up in dramatic adult-like issues when there were none in front of me.

Sometimes it was good to be so young.

Simon:

I vaguely recalled that night when conscious. In dreams everything became somehow more vivid, more concrete. More absolute. As if my waking mind didn't want to hold these memories too close, lest they broke apart the remainder of my already shaken psyche too fast. Everyone was so sure they knew everything bothering me - at the same time declaring I was unpredictable, private with my true feelings, concentrating on having fun and living for the moment.

No one knew anything. That was the truth. Because I didn't let them know.

That moment. The longest moment of my still-short life. The only time that felt longer was the drive back to Glasgow.

And I'll bet everyone would guess that the day my mother died was the worst of my life. The one thing that would shake me, make me uncertain. The one thing that frightened me, unsettled me... broke me.

Fuck everyone. Fuck their bloody fucking assumptions. But I couldn't be so flippant - I'd held it in myself. I'd asked for this private hell by staying quiet.

Me and my big mouth, saying everything but the _truth_.

I was falling apart before she left me. Keeping quiet chipped away at its own steady pace; having trouble remembering when I was awake, well, that certainly fed constantly on my innards as well. Adding to the anxiety and frustration I wouldn't let anyone else see.

Maybe I was falling apart even before that night. But thinking back, that was certainly a turning point for how good a hold I had on reality.

I couldn't stop doing these things to myself. Unintentional, but taking the risk nonetheless. And I paid for it.

_I... fucking... paid_.

* * *

_"Oi, Bells."_

_"Whu..."_

_"Wakey wakey, 's my turn now."_

_"Eh?... Simon? What you want?"_

_"Aww, I didn't wake you, did I?"_

_"Nah... I's just... sleepin'..."_

_"Eh, y'know how ya get after you've, like, run a mile or somethin', an' ya sit down to catch yer breath, and maybe you start starin', and suddenly it looks like the ground's comin' up at you?"_

_"Erm... yeah... usually 'cos it is."_

_"No, not, like, passin' out or collapsing. It's just a visual trick 'a the eyes - maybe a bit like deja vu, where you swear you've lived a moment before, but it's really just some chemical misfirin' in your brain. It's an illusion."_

_"...What about it?"_

_"Well, what if that's what it's all about?"_

_"What? The Hokey-Pokey?"_

_"__**NO!**__ You daft... No, though I'll give you a point for that one - I walked into it."_

_"Gee, thanks, but I'd really rather get some more sleep--"_

_"No, really, mate, think about it - those moments, the ones that're, like, completely zen - what if you have to be in that state of mind in order to figure out the meaning of life? I mean, I've only really gotten to that point after physical exertion - or a bit of spliff - but especially, like, after runnin'... or maybe, like, sex--"_

_"Maaaan, wouldja stop--"_

_"Naw, really - you may not get this, since I'm sure you're more of a bottom most of the time, but when you're the one givin' it, mate, you can feel like you been runnin' a fuckin' marathon--"_

_"__**Please**__stop?"_

_"Aw, c'mon, y'can't tell me you know what I mean - I seen ya half naked, mate, you have to_ have_ a stomach to tone it, so I'm assumin' you're the catcher--"_

_"Siiiii..."_

_"Okay, okay, okay. Nevermind. Anyway - but what if you have to get to that point in order to see things more clearly?"_

_"...Okay. So what're you sayin'?"_

_"I'm saying I think we should start our own garden."_

_"Eh!?"_

_"I found a place in the woods where no one would think to look. Been stakin' it out since last year, and it looks pretty safe. Y'want in?"_

_"Bloody hell, are you insane!?"_

_"...Dunno yet. Still waitin' for the test results. I may be."_

_"...Where?"___

* * *

_  
_Matt:

I had definitely noticed during winter break just how much Simon had become an integral part of my daily life that year. But I didn't recognise until he was gone for that period of time after his mother's death how much I'd come to _like_ everything about him - even the silly offhand comments I'd once get embarrassed or puzzled over. By the end of February, nearly two weeks after the funeral (which I'd spent doing typical things to keep my mind off my nightly loneliness and fooling around with Dom, convincing myself once more that I was utterly head over heels in love with my old friend - and coming damn near close to believing it all as easily as I once had), I'd become so out of sorts that I overslept and missed my first two classes. I knew I would have to go see the dean about my truancy, but I also knew he would most likely let me off with a warning, given my previously excellent attendance and performance, and the situation of missing a grieving friend. So I wasn't worried about that.

What _did_ make me worried, though, was my own behaviour in the few days leading up to that pseudo-mini-coma: I felt drained, burnt out, listless. Even the hours at night with Dom before bedtime had become routine and... well... difficult as it was to admit, not quite as "romantic" or as much of a turn-on as it had been before. People spoke to me and I nodded without really listening. Dom tried to stop in and study with me like usual, but my mind would wander, until he would wave a hand in front of my eyes and I'd catch myself staring blankly up at the defaced Celine Dion poster. I'd chuckle lightly to myself in the middle of conversations when I'd think of something that Simon would have probably interjected to throw people off, or just to sound absurd. Simply going through the motions reminded me of one of his mantras, or a stupid joke he'd told me once, or merely his devilish, knowing grin. But without him there to actually say and do those things himself, nothing was quite as funny or lively as before. Even just his presence in the same room had been so noticeable, so demanding, so _full_, that his absence made classes dull, made get-togethers with mates feel pointless, made everything seem to go gray and lifeless.

It didn't help matters that many of the same people we hung out with were also missing him, but they still tried to go on as usual; I, on the other hand, had reached the end of my rope. I couldn't seem to find my bearings well enough to know where to begin acting "normal" again.

And apparently, I wasn't the only one who had begun noticing my distinct lack of interest in anything anymore. Dom confronted me on Tuesday evening, when he had heard one too many of my non-committal grunts to whether I felt like making out or wanted to continue studying...

We had a row. Or, more accurately, he started nagging me about getting the hell over it already - it hadn't been my mum who'd died.

I'd wanted to hit him for saying it; but I didn't. I just glared hard at him and told him to get out, I was tired. He obviously felt bad about saying it at all, but he didn't take it back either. He merely gathered his things and left me alone to pout some more.

And so, with the rest of my social life apparently in shambles, I decided on Wednesday afternoon that I needed some time away from everyone else. But everywhere I went, the place was crawling with people I'd become friends with that year. I must have let my grooming go as much as my attitude, because in every area I paused to consider enjoying my solitude, someone would inevitably come up to me and ask if I was feeling okay. That coupled with Dom's continuing frustration with me (he hadn't spoken a word to me all day, even during lunch, sitting right beside me) and refusal to understand how and why I _was_ feeling depressed just made it unbearable. I would saunter out, away from curious gazes, without even answering their concerned greetings.

The last place I could think of felt like I was treading on sacred territory, but I couldn't find a better spot, really. With no one around playing battle games, the forest "castle" proved to be the quietest, safest place to hide out - even if it meant hanging around Simon's own private stomping grounds. It felt awkward to hang out there alone, with him nowhere around, yet it was almost too fitting that it was the only place I found suitable for my needs.

So I made myself comfortable on the small plateau of the rock castle and pulled from my pocket the last few joints Simon had "harvested" for me from his secret stash. I knew the mystery crop was around that area somewhere, but didn't have the heart to go looking for the dried-up, dead remains the winter had left him with.

Instead, I got mildly high on my own, basking in the silence and letting my mind wander aimlessly over abstract ideas and unconscious feelings I couldn't be bothered to put names to yet. I let myself wallow in self-pity and loneliness, despite choosing this solitude willingly, and once again began to ponder my insecure nature - which tended to come out full-force whenever my roommate was not around.

I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't hear any footsteps or register the rustling beside me. It was suddenly just there, the familiar voice I'd been aching to hear for weeks, and I didn't even recognise it in my altered state.

"Whatcha doin' there, Bells? Sneakin' a toke without me? That's blasphemy, y'know."

I stared down carelessly at the gray and white specks from my joint, sighing heavily. "Just contemplating life as an ash..."

There was a soft chuckle beside me, then a nudge against my arm as the form crouched down next to me. "Ashes to ashes, eh? They're long gone, mate. Ain't no life to 'em at all."

I blinked heavily - and then slowly swiveled my head in the direction of the comforting drone. And when I saw the faint stubble and the familiar spark in mirrored eyes - and then that smile, that gorgeous, wide grin that hid nothing and everything all at once - I blinked again, my own eyelids drawing back to let my eyes bug out.

"Oi, mate," he greeted me easily - as if he came up here to scare the wits out of me every day of the week.

"S..._Simon?"_ I gasped, gaping some more at the smiling face.

"Aye," he nodded, confirming the name his mother had given him. He snickered and nudged me again. "What's wrong, Bells? Look like ya seen a ghost."


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: Lesson 16: How To Tell The Difference Between Love And Hate **

Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for language, angst, fluff, graphic slash, some non-con... Pre-revision.

Feedback: is love.

Disclaimer: Thankfully, none of this is true for these people.

Simon:

_"Oi, hi there - I've seen you here before, eh?"_

_I looked up from my miserable little corner at the bar and eyed up the short-haired gym bunny disdainfully. I made a show of looking away in exasperation, choosing to nurse my drink some more instead of acknowledge the annoying tart trying to tread on my lonely self-pitying time. Couldn't anyone tell when someone wanted to be alone? Yes, it may have been a fairly busy nightclub with dancing and strobe lights - but, bloody hell, if someone's hunched in a corner over a very stiff drink, one would think others would get a clue..._

_Unlike this prick._

_"What was your name again?" Taking a seat right beside me, as if I'd invited him. "Terrible memory, me, you'll have to forgive me--"_

_Was going to have to go the straight route - pun intended. I turned to him and looked him squarely in the eyes, demanding condescendingly, "Do I know you?"_

_He was unflappable. "I hope so - not your first time in here, I've seen you here before - don't you remember?"_

_Shook my head, narrowing my eyes at him, hoping I looked more vicious than as if I was trying to recall his beet-red face and bulbous nose... "Sorry, mate - no clue who you are."_

_He acted flirtatiously insulted. "Oh, you _**_must _**_remember - we danced together--"_

Easy deflection: telling the truth. "I don't dance." Deadpan and surly at the same time. Well, I **_did_**_ dance occasionally - but not the kind of dancing done in clubs like these. More like shoving people around and throwing myself into inanimate objects to get a thrill. Not exactly the romantic type - and only sexy depending on your taste._

_A guilty expression came over his features instead. "Okay, maybe we didn't dance, but we definitely talked--"_

_"I don't talk when I drink to get drunk," I spat out carelessly, lifting my glass to indicate my current intentions._

_He held up his hands, as if coming clean. "Okay. Okay, you win. We never met." He snuck in low, adding in a confidential tone, "But I _**_have_**_ seen you before. In here. Last Wednesday and Thursday."_

So he had the days right. So he wasn't lying this time. But that hardly quelled my nausea - or piqued my interest. I glared. "You spyin' on me or somethin', mate? 'Cause I don't like bein' watched--"

_"No, no - nothin' like that... Well, okay, maybe a little. But," he went on quickly at my threatening motion to get up and walk away, "well, come on, can't blame me for lookin', can you?"_

_I held his eyes firmly. "I could if I really wanted--"_

_"Well, okay. I'm sorry. But yes, I noticed you. So sue me."_

_I nodded. "I think I could--"_

_He was fed up with my frigidity. But not enough to back the fuck off. "Look, I'm sorry. If that's creepy to you, I'm sorry. But... well, you're not hard on the eyes, all right?"_

_I sighed and started to stand - enough of this bollocks; did I really need a drink that badly?_

_Well..._

_"Don't do that," he pleaded, grabbing my wrist. "Come on, wait a second - wait, stay - I'll buy you a drink!"_

_I paused; free alcohol?_

_..._

_"Come on - you said you wanna get drunk, right? Forget yourself a while?" I hadn't said all that, but obviously I exuded some kind of air which I'd hoped would've been apparent... and evidently was to him. So why the fuck wasn't he backing off? Should've left then, I think. But..._

_"Would you really turn down a free drink?"_

_He had a very compelling argument. I sat down again, holding up a warning finger. "Just don't bother me."_

_He laughed and dared to reach over and pat my leg. "Oh, but it's my intention to!"_

_On my feet again, if not to walk away, then just to get his paw off me. "I'm not interested--"_

_A strong hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back to my seat with an unintentionally forceful shove. He looked startled himself for a moment, then gave me an apologetic face. "Look, just stay, all right? One drink with me, is that so bad? We don't have to dance, I just..." He came eerily close again, eying me up. "I'm interested--"_

_I threw a snaking hand off my thigh and reminded him icily, "I just said I'm _**_not_**_--"_

"--in hearing what's bothering you, is what I was trying to say," he added quickly, holding his hands up to prove his "innocence."

_I folded my arms over my chest, giving him a death glare. "What?"_

_He leaned forward, resting his chin on a hand as he gazed at me, clear concern evident in his eyes. However put-on it was. "You look troubled. I just..."_

_I averted my gaze to my drink again. "I'm not in the mood to chat."_

_"Oh, come on." He nudged my arm with his elbow. "One drink."_

_I finally relented with a reluctant nod. A moment later the bartender reloaded my glass at the asshole's order - and just as he was getting comfy to start chit-chatting, I downed the whole glass and started to get up again._

_"Whoa, easy there, tiger!" he laughed, arm over my shoulders to ease me back into the chair. "May just get a bit too clumsy if you drink that fast--"_

_Nevermind that I hadn't wobbled once even after that burning gulp._

_I sighed and tossed his arm off me. "Are we done here? I've had me free drink, courtesy of you - thank you - now scurry along."_

_He completely ignored my attempt to get rid of him, signalling to the bartender instead. "C'mon, have another." The new glass was set in front of me and I stared dully down at it. "My treat," he assured me._

_Bloody hell. I went for it. Downed another one in under two seconds. By my fourth, he was dangling on my shoulder again, annoying the hell out of me, but I was at least buzzed enough to not care anymore._

_"So," his voice crooned beside my ear. "What's botherin' you, son? C'mon. Tell me all about it." In some faux seductive voice, like it'd actually do something like shoot straight to my cock and get me bothered._

_Right. Like I'm gonna tell this horny drunken fool my problems. What a cunt._

_"I'm not in the mood to talk." But the slur to my speech was apparently a positive sign for him._

_"It's either that or put up with me groping you all night," he reasoned with a twisted grin._

_I lifted my head to give the cunt a cold glare; he just smiled back. So I relented._

_I sat back in my seat and let the despair show itself on my face. As I prepared to blurt out to him my tragic story._

_He wanted to hear some problems to make himself feel like he was gettin' closer to a pity shag by gettin' closer to me? I'd give him some problems..._

_"Me girlfriend's pregnant... but I'm not sure the baby is mine... See, ever since Mum ran off with that insurance salesman three years ago, Dad's been hittin' the bottle quite a bit... but he's gettin' up there in age, y'know, so... even if he still gets that urge... he can't really go out 'n pull chicks as easily as he did when he was my age... So he started just gettin' blind pissed... 'n doin' what he needed to do... to me..._

_"I got used to it meself, but after me girlfriend was booted out of her house - 'cause her folks don't like me - we took 'er in... 'n I really dunno if... maybe he's been enjoyin' havin' a woman around again a bit too much... She says it's mine, but she ain't refused when I asked if they've been... y'know... just calls me crazy - but never said no. I got suspicious 'cause he hasn't done it to me lately, so maybe he was drunk 'n thought she was me, or she was her, or somethin' like 'at... And I'm not so sure how normal I am - considering I think I'm more jealous of _**_her_**_ than I am of him... if they're screwin', I mean..._

_"Oh, but she don't know 'bout Dad doin' it to me, an' really, I shouldn't be tellin' you that anyway, 'cause if I tell anyone, he'll slit me throat like he said... so just... don't tell anyone, eh?"_

_The long silence between us as he stared into my eyes, a solemn look on his face, was the longest I'd ever been able to pull off not laughing while making up complete bollocks._

_An accomplishment._

_"You won't tell, will you?" Said with such a pleading, childish tone that his eyes went all narrow and suspicious._

_"Either you've got some fucked life," he muttered bitterly, "or you're just fucked for makin' shit like that up."_

_My innocence vanished and I gave him a haughty glare instead. "Either way, I'm fucked, right?"_

_The oily grin twisting his lips was enough to make a proctologist grimace. "But I can do it the_**_ right _**_way."  
_

Matt:

I didn't even bother trying to contain my relief when I realised who was speaking to me. Instead I whirled around to him, mouth agape and eyes continuing to bug out, and blurted out, "What're you... Are you... back? Like, for good?"

Simon shrugged nonchalantly. "Aye. I'm back now." He held out his arms, as if displaying his mighty army for all to see. "All is well!" he announced in a faux dictator voice.

And despite his cheerful laughter, all I could think to do was throw my arms around him, nearly toppling us both to the ground in my fit of (perhaps pot-enhanced) euphoria.

"Whoa, Bells," he giggled, catching his balance to keep us both at least on our knees. "What's got you all worked up, eh? Blimey, is that a banana in your pocket or are you actually just that happy to see me?"

Ignoring his blatant mockery of my reaction, I pulled back and, grinning like an idiot, mumbled, "Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, I just... Just glad you're back."

He blinked, looking startled, but content. "Jesus, don't think anyone's ever been _that_ giddy to see me. Including me own mum. So, what, was it really that bad while I was away?"

Well, the fact that he was able to include his mother in jokes showed that he wasn't a _complete_ mess, at least. And at his question, I only glowered at him. "Oh... You have no clue, Si," I murmured, shaking my head. "I just, uh..." Then I cringed, reconsidering. "Well, no, it wasn't _terrible,_ I guess, but..." At his continued blank stare at me, all I could do was chuckle and shake my head some more, squeezing his arm as if to prove to myself that he was actually there. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Aye, me too," he muttered, sounding disgusted. "Tell the truth, I don't think I coulda stayed much longer in that house, mate."

I nodded my understanding, patting his shoulder in sympathy. "Yeah? I guess... it must've been hard..."

"Absolutely _stiflin'_, man," he confirmed passionately. "I had to get out again, y'know, get back to some real life again. They wanted me to stay a bit longer, but I just couldn't handle not doin' nothin' all day. And in that house, where it's just sacrilege to be inside it without her..." He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly when referring to his mother. After a pause, he bit his lip, giving a sheepish smile instead. "I just... had to come back, y'know?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "`They'? Who's `they'?"

He rolled his eyes, waving a hand carelessly. "Oh, y'know - people. Borin' people, really." He shook himself sharply, turning to me to give me one of his beaming grins. "But enough about all that - how's things here?"

I grimaced, raking a hand through my hair. "Eh... Same old, same old. Are you, like, back in classes, too? You've missed quite a bit--"

"Ah, yeah - I'll be doin' make-up work on me own for a while. Hopefully get back into regular classes in a month or so. So I won't see ya as much durin' the day, but night comes, mate, I'll be naggin' ya more than y'prob'ly want me to."

I chuckled along with him, but quite honestly, I found it hard to believe, after the previous weeks' distractions and frustrations, that the last part could possibly happen. Finally, I thought, things could start to get back to normal again... but then again, I reminded myself, this _was_ Simon, so perhaps I didn't want to tempt fate...

Instead of giving him an open invitation to annoy me to no end, I merely told him, "Nah, I... I really missed ya, y'know? I was quite, um... worried about you... after what happened at the funeral 'n all--"

But Simon - speaking of distractions - seemed completely caught up in something else from his head, interrupting me with a forceful, "Hey, you guys have any battles lately?" He gestured to the empty space of land in front of us, where our mock battles had seen many a young man stumble into Simon's wayward bow...

"Hm? Battles? Oh, um, no - not really. I guess most people felt sort of... It just didn't feel the same without, er..." Go ahead, Bells, I thought comically; swell his head some more, why doncha? I shrugged - there was no way around it, though. "Wasn't the same without ya, mate."

He snickered and rubbed his hands together like some evil villainous doctor. "Ah, perfect! Now I can finally get to work on that catapult--"

I scoffed, gawking at him. "Catapult!? Still? Si - between catching up on schoolwork and bothering me, when the hell d'you plan to have time to do that?"

He brushed off my remarks with a condescending air, assuring me confidently, "Oh, where there's a will, there's a way, young novice. Maybe we can do some kinda secret plan thing, y'know? Like, meet here after class, work on it a bit, then go out 'n have a drink before headin' back. Sounds like a good deal, eh? Weather's gettin' a bit warmer..."

I had no clue what he was talking about; even my heavy coat and my previously depressed mood hadn't been enough to keep the shivers away. But he was so animated and excited at the prospect, I couldn't think of a way to refuse. Except one thing nagged at my mind...

"Erm... Yeah, but, uh, havin' a drink - like, durin' the week?"

He glanced at me with wide, startled eyes, perfectly blank and clueless at his own words - then blinked and amended, "Oh, well, I mean, like, dinner, right? If y'don't feel like havin' a drink, I mean. Skip that bloody cafeteria food, I've got some cash. We can, like, hit some places in town instead."

I scratched at my head. "Are we... allowed to do that?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed, shoving me by the shoulder. "Bloody hell, you're naive! Of course we're allowed - why d'you think Mr. Wilson's always tryin' to get us to get more involved with functions in town? They _want_ us to become involved, mate, so yeah, we're allowed into town. And we _are_ allowed off campus until ten at night, I've already checked, Bells. Y'won't get in trouble, I promise."

I nodded slowly, realising that, if anyone was going to know about the curfew here, it was Simon - not that he'd kept it in mind when he'd gone out on his own before, but perhaps with me along, he'd stick with it a bit better. "Okay, then... So..." I glanced over at him, taking in his giddy grin and flashing eyes, his hands rubbing together still, though now perhaps it was more to keep warm than to imitate some mad scientist. But his overall demeanor, with random twitches and tapping his foot, made him seem almost, I noticed faintly, a bit on the... manic side.

I cleared my throat and hazarded carefully, "So, um... how've you been doin', anyway?"

He barely glanced at me, his attention focused now on the spacious land in front of us. "Oh, okay, I guess. Y'know, could be better, but as for right now, I'm doin' all right. You?"

I shrugged. "I'm all right."

"Yeah?" He gestured to me with his chin, smirking. "Anymore, ah, squabbles with the boyfriend?"

I winced, huddling further into my coat. "Um... Not... Well, kind of," I admitted reluctantly, not feeling like getting into my continuing confusion over Dom and his weird attitude - and certainly not wanting to mention his words about me acting like I'd been the one who'd suffered a major loss. But I did add, "But we're not exactly, um, boyfriends, per se..."

"Ah, I get it," Simon nodded. "Get it where and when y'can, eh? I've done that bit. Can be kinda fun, right?"

I tilted my head to the side, flinching faintly when I felt my chest twinge over the thought of Dom having a bit of his own fun with someone else... Not that there was anything _wrong_ with that... I supposed...

"Yeah," I sighed despondently. "I guess... If you're in the mood for it."

For once, Simon mistook my reluctance to speak about it in the wrong way, and he nudged me again with his elbow. "Aw, what? You ain't been hot 'n bothered lately? C'mon, with that nice piece a' tail around?"

I balked at him openly; had he just said _that_ about _Dom?_

I snickered to myself, shaking my head - typical Simon, why was I surprised?

"I just... I've been distracted lately," I explained vaguely.

"Distracted?" He finally decided to settle himself and sat down next to me, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and lighting one. He offered it to me without thinking, despite his knowledge that I didn't smoke (cigarettes, anyway), but I merely shook my head instead of correcting him. "What you been distracted by, Bells?" he asked as he took a long drag.

I couldn't meet his gaze this time; I let my own attention wander to the fighting grounds, choosing my words carefully. "I dunno... Things. Other, um, people, I guess..."

Simon flicked some ashes at me. "Ah, see? Didn't I tell ya? Too many other blokes out there to settle on just one right away. So who's the lucky man? Or _men_, is it?"

I cringed, shaking my head again. "Um... No... No one in particular... I think..."

"Oh, keepin' yer options open, then, I see. Good route to start at."

"I guess..." I finally lifted my head, making a decision and forcing myself to stick with it. "Hey, um, Si?"

"Aye."

"When you... When you were goin' out a lot back in January... where, um... where did you used to go?" Maybe if I asked casually enough, he wouldn't catch on to my sudden urge to really try out that theory of Dom's - and, perhaps, to test and see if everyone else was right after all.

Thankfully, he let out a plume of smoke and answered lightly, "Oh, loads a' places, mate."

"Like where?"

"Oh... clubs. Pubs. Anywhere they'd serve me, really. It was nice..." An idea seemed to occur to him and he sat up straighter, gesturing at me with his cigarette. "Hey, d'you wanna go sometime? We could go tonight, actually - I was sorta countin' on it."

"Um, I dunno - I'd be too worried about getting caught off-campus after curfew--"

"Ah, y'stop worryin' 'bout that once y'get in the groove," he assured me easily, as if breaking rules was an every day thing for him.

Oh right - for him, it _was_.

"Then y'just chill, hang out, have fun. You should come with me tonight - see all the hot bods you've been missin' out on. Maybe give one or two a try..."

I rolled my eyes at him, though it was with a smile that I uttered, "As disgusting as ever, I see."

He held out his hands helplessly. "Of course! What'd you expect? I'd come back and be different? Naw, man, I'm still same ol' Si."

I waved at his unusually fidgety body and amended, "More like Si times ten."

"Maybe... Maybe... And what's so bad about that?"

I closed my eyes, holding up a finger. "Gimme a minute, I guarantee I'll think of something..."

"Nah, fuck it," he proclaimed, tossing the butt of his cigarette to the ground below us and standing up. "Let's go."

I jerked my head back, looking up at him in surprise; had he... grown taller in just a few weeks? I wondered...

"Go?"

"Yeah - it's almost seven, right? We go now, we can get into town round about eight and have some time in the clubs. Sound good? Get outta this fuckin' cold?"

Ah... and I'd wondered why he kept twitching - thinking it was some kind of new nervous condition or something...

"I haven't really finished my homework," I recalled, half relieved to have an excuse, and half regretful that I hadn't planned for something this out-of-the-blue to happen.

"Aw, y'can do that later, eh?" he nagged, kicking at me. "C'mon, be a mate, come out wi' me, it's me first night back, I need to celebrate, no?"

"...Well..."

He leaned forward, sticking his lower lip out and giving me a sad puppy-eyes expression - which I'd never seen him pull before, _ever_. But it certainly made me laugh.

"Pwease?"

I smacked his leg. "Oi! That an insult or what?"

"Damn!" he cursed, stomping the ground when I reminded him of my impediment. "I didn't mean it like that, Bells--"

"Oh, calm down, I'm kidding." I got to my feet, when suddenly something else occurred to me. "Oh wait - are you sure you wanna go right now? Don't you wanna, like, go see Ben and Jim--"

"Ah, right," he mused, sliding his hands into his pockets as a strangely uncomfortable expression came over his face. His shoulders tense, he swallowed hard and he explained tentatively, "Look, about that... Um, this is kinda hard to explain, but... Well, y'know what the situation is, right? So, um... I'm really not quite so keen on, uh, bein' 'round everyone right away, like. Plus, with all my catch-up work, I'll be really busy, and I just don't think I'll be able to sort of, um... keep it all together if I've got, like, half the class up me ass about bein' back..."

I studied his face closely, trying to surmise from his worried look what he was trying to get across. "So... What do you want to do?"

"It's more like... what I'd like _you_ to do - or _not_ do, actually... I'd really rather keep the fact that I'm back kinda low-key, y'know? So if you could, like, not mention it to anyone... sort of pretend I'm not here... I'd really appreciate it..."

I raised my eyebrows at him, genuinely startled by this request. "You don't want me to tell anyone?" I repeated, sure I'd heard him wrong. "Not even Ben and Jim?"

He squirmed uncomfortably under my stare, averting his eyes shyly. "Uh... aye... if y'could..."

The guy looked like he wanted to crawl right out of his own skin, even in that cold weather. So I finally relented, offering a clueless smile and a shrug. "Sure. Whatever you want, man. If you really don't think you could handle the attention at this point, that's fine. I get it."

He let out a breath of relief, glancing at me gratefully. "Thanks, mate."

I smiled back, giving him a quick half-hug. "Whatever you need, mate. Just good to have you back."

The walk into town was actually quite nice - quiet, peaceful, as we finished the spliff - the calm before the storm, so to speak. There was no pavement for almost half the way, so walking along the road itself made Simon wary of traffic, as he kept checking over his shoulder. By the time we reached a sidewalk, he'd gotten so used to it, apparently, that he kept doing it. I teased him for his paranoia, but he took it in stride.

Our choice of clubs was very limited, though there seemed to be a pub on every other corner. When he asked my opinion, I asserted that I definitely preferred a club - some loud music seemed appropriate if this was truly a celebration, and the added heat of dancing bodies would be welcome to our now freezing limbs. However, the first club we came to, Si seemed to pick up his pace to pass it. I called to him and gestured to the front door, but he shook his head.

"Nah - not this one--"

"Aw, c'mon, I'm _cold!_"

He held out his arms. "D'you want easy comfort or quality?"

"I don't _care_, I'm _cold!_" I wailed pathetically.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me along beside him, ignoring my whine. "_No_, I said - I know the bartender in there. He's a total ignor-anus."

"Uh, I think you mean `ignoramus'?"

"No - I mean, he's ignorant, _and_ he's an asshole, therefore he's an ignor-_anus_. Now c'mon, there's another one half a mile up..."

I groaned at the prospect of another half mile walk, but he was so insistent that I could only follow along.

And when we did finally get there, I really didn't know what the difference was between this club and the other one, but at least we got served at the bar without any hassle.

Neither of us were much of dancers, despite my usual fidgety nature and his _un_usually jitteriness that night, which I chalked up mainly to the cold. He bought us both some drinks and we hung out in a fairly isolated corner, despite his claims that he wanted me to find a "hot bod" for the night. I actually enjoyed myself, just talking nonsense with him, avoiding anything very heavy, and me just trying to catch him up on the few small social bits of news and what we were up to in class.

But I was still nervous about the whole curfew problem. He tried to convince me not to worry, that he would get us back inside safely whether anyone knew or not, but I couldn't keep from checking my watch every few minutes.

Finally, after a few more drinks, he relented and we started on the journey back home. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system - he'd drank twice as much as me anyway - but he didn't seem nearly as worried about the traffic situation now as he had before. In fact, he walked the majority of the way back right in the middle of the motorway, probably startling some drivers when their headlights caught the swaggering form in front of them. He laughed at me jovially when I pleadingly dragged him closer to the shoulder, but didn't put up a fight.

And sometime during that walk, I felt compelled - again, I blame the alcohol - to ask him sheepishly, "Oi, Si... D'you... What you told me before, a few weeks ago... D'you really think I'm... y'know... hot or whatever?"

He smiled at me, clearly inebriated, and pushed me gently by my cheek. "Aw, you're just too adorable for words, mate..."

"No, really," I insisted irritably. "I mean, I kept track a bit when we were in the club... and really, I dunno, but I don't think many people noticed me..."

"Well, we were kinda secluded," he pointed out reasonably. "But trust me, Bells, you'd draw eyes anywhere ya went. If you actually put yourself out there, I know you would."

I pursed my lips, not sure if I was satisfied with that answer. "Well... What about you?"

"Eh? Me?"

"Yeah... You. Whadda _you_ think a' me?"

Maybe he was being facetious, mocking my vain concern - or maybe he really meant it. But either way, he came to a full stop in the middle of the road and turned me to him, holding me by the arms as he stood barely inches from my face, looking straight at me.

"I think," he slurred, staggering slightly in his spot. "...I think you could prob'ly break me heart if y'wanted. An' I think..." He burped and scratched at the stringy mop on his head. "...Dom's a fuckin' fool for not snatchin' you up for good when he had the chance... 'less, a' course, there's still a chance... An' tha'... is what I think."

I almost felt like the intensity of his stare and his words were going to compel me to throw my arms around him at that point...

...but the unsteady finger that prodded me in the shoulder and the goofy, manic smile that split his face a second later, followed by a shrill giggle, made me wonder...

Thankfully, he continued walking then, though to keep up the flow of the conversation, he blurted out thoughtlessly, "Y'know, I came out to me mum."

I gawked over at him, stunned by this confession.

"I's thinkin' 'bout it a lot, since we'd talked," he went on. "An' that weekend when I went to visit... Well, I thought 'bout what you said... 'bout me bein' all open 'n shit... An', y'know, I decided that... you're right. I _should_ just be meself, no matter what the cost 'n aw. An' I know you know I already think that way, but sayin' it to your folks... tha'ssa tough bag to carry, eh? Still, I felt like... I felt like she should know... what she gave birth to 'n aw... Not that she hadn't known me all along, but... But yeah... I told 'er."

I stammered for something to say, now struggling to keep up with his long, however unsteady strides. "And? What'd she say?"

He smiled awkwardly, looking up at the dark sky above us. "Well... See... I been havin' these, like... real bad dreams lately... Few months now, I reckon... An' that night, I had a real horrible one... woke meself up shoutin' or somethin'... An' I was actually so bloody shaken that I..." He smothered his smile sheepishly, admitting shyly, "I went in 'n asked if I could sleep with 'er. Like I was some bloody eight-year-old or somethin'..."

I nodded at him to go on, chewing my lip in anticipation of his words.

"'Course she let me, always has. She was kinda... out of it anyway, as you might'a guessed... I dunno, maybe she knew it was the last time she'd see me or somethin'... Y'know... That Saturday night..." He trailed off, gulping harshly enough that I could hear him a few feet away. "Anyway, I told 'er 'bout how... y'know... how I am."

I waited, practically holding my breath. When he didn't go on, I urged him shrilly, "_And?_"

He smirked over at me. "What you mean, `and'? Whatchoo think? _My_ mum? C'mon, mate. 'Course she just hugged me 'n aw, tellin' me all this bollocks 'bout bein' so proud a' me 'n shit... No matter what I was or who I loved... or who I love _doin'_, heh... But, um... yeah, she didn't care. Told me she loved me 'n all that stuff y'need to hear when you're vulnerable like 'at. And then..." He giggled deliriously. "...Then she asked me if I was in love with someone special... An' she - _she_, of all people - asked me if it was Ben."

Inwardly, I felt my stomach somersaulting, for no apparent reason.

"Ben?" I pushed. "And... w-what... did you say?"

"I said I had been, but I ain't gonna push it where it ain't wanted... She seemed sad for me for a bit, but then started talkin' 'bout... y'know... some lucky bloke would figure it out someday..."

I nodded slowly to myself, just then realising that I'd chewed my lip bloody. The cold air wasn't helping any either.

And in the strange silence that followed, Simon must have noticed too, because when he glanced over at me, he nudged my arm, and I looked down to see him holding out a handkerchief to me.

"Looks like it hurts," he remarked as I dabbed at my chin and lip.

I only grunted in response.

"'S okay," he assured me. "It'll heal."

My fears over curfew seemed at first to be confirmed, as the front doors were locked - but then they abated when Si pulled me to the back of the dormitory to show me the loose window he'd told me about before. Within minutes, we'd sneaked inside and made our (drunken, stumbling) way back to our dorm room - with no trouble at all. And once inside, still keeping his voice low and his demeanor hidden, Si clumsily pulled me onto his bed with him, his muscular arms keeping me in a warm - almost smothering - embrace as he cackled at my worthless attempts to break free.

Eventually, though, he let me go, but at his rather sweet and shy request, I joined him again on the mattress after I slid out of my coat and sneakers. I noticed vaguely that he hadn't even removed his boots before collapsing onto the soft duvet, but when I suggested he take them off, I only got a lazy snore in return; he was still awake, but that was his obnoxious answer to my considerate query.

So I quietly obliged him, smiling secretly to myself as I cuddled the blasted bloke, and eventually drifted off myself, to his deep, soft voice humming an old Beatles tune.

Simon:

_I stared down the bloke after his rather threatening remark, silently daring him to just try and pull something on me when I was in a mood like that._

_"Why don't we just leave it at, I'm not interested?" I said coldly, and shoved myself out of the chair, pin-pointing my destination as the exit._

_"Well," came the slimy voice again, this time right next to my ear as a firm arm hooked around my lower back and steered me away from the direction I'd tried to go, "you see, the thing is, kid, I have one major pet peeve in life."_

_"People telling you to fuck off?" I suggested, struggling to get out of his grip - but suddenly the other hand was clamped on my arm, aiding in his attempt to force me toward the back of the club._

_"No," he grunted, and his forceful shoving was conflicting sharply with the abruptly unstable state of my feet - I'd had more to drink than I'd thought... and come to think of it, those last couple of drinks he'd given me... They hadn't tasted quite the same as my usual... Probably something stronger... "Actually, I don't have that much of a problem with people doing that to me," he told me, and I found myself surrounded by a spinning, nauseating dimness - the rooms in the back of the club, where people snuck off to when they didn't feel like taking anyone to their homes..._

_Okay. I was starting to panic._

_"Well, start getting used to it," I seethed, trying desperately to stop my dizzy head from making me ill. I could feel myself sweating profusely, could feel the bitterness in my throat... I fought to pry the hands off my arms, but even my fingers felt numb and clumsy._

_I felt the solid surface behind my back, harsh and fierce as twice my weight was smacked into me, sending me crashing back into the wall hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs._

_"No," he went on mercilessly, a fist in my hair to yank my head up. "You see, my one big problem is that I simply can't stand liars."_

_"What a pity," I stammered breathlessly, still a smartass despite the weakness. "You hate liars, and I hate persistent assholes. I guess the twain should never meet--"_

_Just as the back of my head hit the wall, jolting me nearly senseless as I gasped for air. Two or three blows later - I couldn't tell - I was spitting out blood from my mouth, wincing at the knee pressing angrily between my legs._

_"But I have this compulsive urge, whenever I meet a lying little stubborn prick like you, to teach them a bit of a lesson."_

_"Sorry, I get enough lessons in school - hear that? __**School. **__You got any clue how fuckin' old I am, you sick--"_

_He didn't care about my age; he cut me off with another punch before I could get it out._

_"I think you need a lesson in honesty," he informed me._

_I was just as relentless as he was - I growled into his face, "Try this novel idea on for size, you moronic dick: __**I'm... not... interested**__ in having another--"_

_Another frustrating struggle, leaving me winded and sore, and ending up with me on the ground, on my knees._

_"Let me start the lesson like this," he said sweetly, leaning over to drawl that disgustingly surly voice right next to my ear. "I'll tell you __**my**__ truth right now: when I want something, I get it."_

_I let out an unintentional yell when he bit into the back of my neck, crumbling me from behind._

_"And right now... I want you..."_

_I fought to get to my knees again, to get up off the fucking floor, anything to get some leverage, to get away--_

_But the hand around my throat suddenly silenced everything in my head - frozen, as all I could think about within moments was trying to breathe..._

_"And I'll be having you, whether you're interested or not."_

Matt:

The following morning, I woke next to Simon, only a slight bit confused as to why I was lying in his bed with him, and he greeted me quietly, as if he'd been awake all night. I raised my eyebrows at this, but he only shrugged helplessly in return, reminding me about the bad dreams he'd been having lately. He mumbled through his explanation, which gave me the distinct impression that he didn't feel like discussing it at length.

So instead, I slipped out from under the duvet (when had I gotten under it?) and said I needed to get a shower and get ready for classes, and he reluctantly agreed that he also had to get going as I left the room.

I was startled to find him already gone by the time I got back, but I figured he must have wanted to get started on his make-up work right away, as I didn't see him at breakfast either, and all I'd found was a quick note on my bed asking to meet him at the castle after classes.

As I sat at my usual table and struggle to fly through the rest of the homework I'd blown off the night before, I realised that I was no longer alone. I lifted my head from my text to see Dom standing hesitantly at the head of the table, watching me with an apologetic expression on his still-sleepy face. I'd been so absorbed in my work that I had trouble figuring out why he looked so nervous, but then I recalled our argument from the other day.

I instantly felt like blurting out that everything was okay, to not worry because Simon was back now and we could go back to how things usually were... but then I remembered Simon's request to keep his return quiet – and if he wasn't keen on even the _twins_ knowing, surely he'd also meant someone further from his inner circle like Dom. So I bit my tongue and refrained from breaking my promise – though I did offer Dom an equally sorry glance to assure him it was okay for him to join me.

"Hey," he greeted me as he slid into a seat beside me. "Cramming?"

"Unh," I grunted irritably. "Got a bit sidetracked last night..."

He nodded his understanding, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Hey, Matt, look... the other day... what I said – it really wasn't very nice, or appropriate, for me to say that--"

I quickly shook my head, shrugging it off easily. "No, it's all right, mate. I know, I've been a bit of a downer lately, and it's good you called me on it. But from now on things'll get better," I added with a sneaky smile, careful to remind myself not to divulge too much.

He gave me an odd look, not quite understanding, but obviously relieved to have me letting him off the hook right away. "Oh?"

"Yeah," I repeated. "Yeah. I'll be better now."

"Oh... So... what brought on this change?"

I bit my tongue again, forming a strange sort of smirk with my lips. "Just, um... nothing big. Just thought it over and decided you were right."

Such a vague explanation didn't seem to answer his question at all, but after a few more moments of that queer look, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged helplessly.

"Okay, then. Cool."

I couldn't help but feel like all through science class that Thursday afternoon, and all during lab hour, Dr. House seemed preoccupied. During his lecture he broke off twice to go hide in his office for a few minutes, then returned seeming more edgier than before.

It occurred to me, as I exchanged curious glances with Dom, that maybe he was somehow involved in Simon's make-up work, and that may have been why his attention was so divided. Of course I didn't suggest this, as Dom wasn't to know Simon was back at all, but I sort of formulated this theory on my own and decided to stick with it.

The up-side to Dr. House's apparent lackluster attitude toward class that day was an early dismissal – twenty minutes before lab was over, he announced that the experiment was being put off until Tuesday, and he rushed out of class before the rest of us even had a chance to pack our bags. That certainly caused a few raised eyebrows – and someone uttering coyly, "What, did the dean find out about his stash or something?" - but none of us were stupid enough to go after him and question it.

So, having a bit of extra time, I walked back to the dorms with Dom, both of us musing over the strange behaviour – though I let Dom be the one to actually voice his ideas instead of telling him my own assumed reasons. We had a bit of a laugh over it.

But when the subject changed to what to do with the rest of the evening, I told him straight away that I couldn't hang out.

"Aw, why not?" he whined, actually stomping and sagging his shoulders like there was a weight on him when I said I wanted to stay in and study alone, without distractions like a horny Dominic to cut into my work (my ready-made excuse to use when I was sneaking around with Simon but couldn't _say_ that).

"C'mon, man," he pleaded. "I promise I'll be good tonight – no secret ear-nibbles between lessons... unless you really _want_ them..."

I giggled at his genuine attempt to entice me with actual hard work, but shook my head. "Sorry – I just... Tomorrow night, I promise. It's Friday, we can stay up late without worrying about getting up – believe me, it'll be a lot more fun on Friday."

He sighed heavily, letting me off the hook despite the plain pout on his face. "Man... That's two nights now you've blown me off--"

"Oi, I was pissed at you before," I reminded him.

"Yeah, but you're not now, right?"

"No," I agreed. "I'm not. I just... I already told myself I was gonna do this no matter what, so I have to stick to my commitments." And without thinking, I added cynically, "Y'know, some of us _like_ having that kind of stability in our lives--"

And once again, thanks to my big mouth, Dom bristled and threw back at me scathingly, "Oh, would you just let it _go_ already, Matthew, _Jesus!"_

I caught the very obvious aggression in his tone and looked over at his gloomy face, wincing when I finally noticed how I'd struck a chord.

But... as Simon had said the night before – can't deny what and who you are, right?

So I let out a growl and snapped back, "Well, blimey, Dom, I'm _so_ sorry – I can't help but feel like when we mess around, it's just that to you, ever since we decided on this _`open'_ relationship thing – if we even have a relationship at _all_. I just don't get it, okay? You don't wanna call me your boyfriend or lover, but you can't go a day without knowing where I am or what I'm up to? What the hell is that about!?"

He stopped in his tracks, turning to me with wide, furious eyes. "Oh, we're bringing _that_ into it now, are we? I was _worried_, okay? Because you'd been so mopey all week, so maybe I was scared you'd gone and done something _stupid_, as usual, _okay?_"

I would have pulled back a bit and relented, giving him some leeway with his genuine caring...

But when he just had to add that last bit, I scoffed at him indignantly and waved a hand at him dismissively. "Oh, that's great, thank you _so_ much, mate. Now I know what you _really_ think of me and my _stupidity_--"

"No, Matt, don't – I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have put it like that, but--"

But I'd had enough – I didn't need to be so coddled by some guy who liked fooling around, as long as no one else knew about it. I was tired of his insecurity, of his blatant refusal to give me what it was _I_ felt I wanted. And if you can't change someone's own opinions and perceptions – well, maybe it was just time to let go.

"Matt... Matt, hang on," he called after me as I turned and abruptly started heading away from him. "C'mon, man, don't be like that, come _on_..."

But the further I got from his voice, the less painful it was to walk away.

Simon:

I could tell something was wrong – the sour look on his face, his careless grunts even when I presented him with a detailed, intricate blueprint of what I'd done on the catapult so far, and not even a hint of a question to my state of sanity when he saw how much effort I'd put into this work of art.

I couldn't get a word out of him about it, though. So when I suggested – quite quickly, as it was usually the case with him when he got like this, so he was easy to predict – that he'd had a fight with Dom again, and he immediately tensed and got that familiar scowl on h is face, I knew the perfect solution.

Setting aside the catapult drawings – which hadn't even pulled a "How long have you been working on this?" or "When did you get the time to do all this?" from him – I set my jaw and announced, "Okay – time to go drink."

And, to my pleasant surprise, he didn't even argue about curfew this time. Blimey, I thought – he needed to get pissed off like this more often...

But, as it turned out, getting alcohol into the little bugger may not have been the _best_ of plans. But you work with what you're given – or what you've made for yourself.

By the time he got a fifth shot of tequila in him, Matt was blubbering and blathering all over about his miserable existence. Part of me laughed inwardly at the pathetic excuse for a teenager – but genuinely, I felt bad for the bloke. All these questions and all this confusion writhing around in one very pretty little head, hung up on Dom so much for a while now that he admitted to feeling insulted, degraded, when the other boy had started pulling away from him.

It wasn't a new story at all – timeless, really, except for the fact that I felt personally involved, him being one of my closest friends now. And seeing him in such pain – well, despite a part of myself that was relieved to be focusing on someone _else's_ problems for a change, it hurt to see him so torn up about it.

The truth was, he'd been honestly hurt by Dom's not even wanting to give the whole relationship deal a go. As if the novelty had worn off after only a few weeks, while Matt had actually gone and fallen in love with the bloke. And now, when Matt had other things in his life (namely _me_), suddenly Dom seemed interested again – but still not how Matt wanted... or, indeed, _needed_.

So some people are born with and brought up on different morals, different priorities; and it just so happened that, for all his attempts to seem blase about the "open" thing, Matt _wanted_ to be with one person, and only one person. Even at only seventeen.

So be it. Nothin' wrong with that. Except that one person he'd wanted to be with, well, didn't want the same thing.

Maybe I shouldn't have pushed him, I said, apologising for encouraging him to deny that need in himself. But as soon as I started showing regret, the drunken pixie draped himself on my arms and affectionately assured me that I'd only been trying to help, that apologies weren't necessary.

"Besides," he nodded as his head sagged down on my shoulder, "you've prob'ly been the only constant in my life this year."

I sputtered at that, reminding him of all my unexplained disappearances and absurd, off-the-wall ideas.

"No," he insisted, his eyes swollen to pitiful slits. "No, really, mate – you've been such a great friend, you were always there for me when I needed cheerin' up..."

I questioned the validity of that proclamation, but the dude was on a roll – whatever, right?

And that's when his hand dropped to my leg, squeezing a tad harder than he probably meant to, telling me again how much he'd missed me...

But then his attention was distracted by something else, and he ducked his head, startled by something he hadn't expected to feel...

Again, you people are _sick_. I'm talking about my _trousers_, not the contents of them.

"Wha th'fuck?" he mumbled, his hand stroking my thigh in amazement – which, actually, felt quite nice, come to think of it...

"What?" I challenged him, already prepared for the expected onslaught.

He lifted his face to me, a giant, toothy grin splitting his adorable face. "Are you... Why the fuck are you wearin' _velvet_ trousers!?" he howled, barely able to get the words out between his laughter.

I'd known this would happen; I gave him a haughty glance and smirked, "Oh, what, a man's not allowed to take pleasure in his wardrobe? Go ahead and mock me, you wee _boy_, _I'm_ delving into physical pleasures beyond your comprehension."

But Matt was close to hysterics now; I was ready for it – I knew. So I nonchalantly sipped at my drink, crossing my legs to sit rather daintily instead of my typical hunched posture.

"The fuck, you're a tranny now or what!?" he giggled. "Bein' gay wasn't enough, y'had to go the whole distance?"

"Oh, you laugh," I quipped, raising my eyebrows, "but believe me, these bloody things are fucking luxurious – especially when there's velvet _inside_ as well, and there's nothing to separate it from your skin."

At my words, he only giggled more – but at my sly smile and a quirked eyebrow, his laughter dissipated as my meaning sank in, being replaced by an open-mouthed gape.

"Whu?" he stammered, then leaned in closer to me. "D'you mean – hang on – are you _serious?_" he hissed.

I shrugged again. "What? No big deal – one less article to dispose of at the end of the night..."

"Oh my God," he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "You're really... For real?"  
I nodded.

"In this weather!? Holy hell, mate, you'll freeze your balls off!"

I shook my head. "On the contrary, not when you've got a soft, comfy layer of velvet rubbin' 'em relentlessly – that shit keeps 'em hot all bloody _day_, mate! Let me tell ya, it's a goddamn treat to go for a walk right now – I think I've been horny since eight o'clock this morning..."

Matt:

I couldn't remember much of the walk home that night – just that it was long, and dark, and cold. (Not that Simon's balls noticed...)

But somehow he managed to get us back safely, and by the time we did make it to the room (via the secret window again, as it was well past curfew this time), I was slightly more sober and much more aware.

Yet I was still inebriated enough to move around and act with less anxiety than usual. As he lay on his bed and I changed out of my own clothes, I thought nothing of it as the layers peeled off. Maybe I was still too buzzed from the alcohol to register any self-consciousness, or maybe I simply didn't think he was paying any attention, drifting into a drunken slumber of his own as I shuffled around in the dim light from the window. But then that wouldn't explain why I kept stripping, even when I could feel his eyes on me – I knew he was watching me, watching quite intently actually, yet there was no trace of my typical shy hesitancy as I discarded my damp, sweaty clothes and took my time in puling on a fresh pair of boxers and an undershirt. It felt completely natural to be so open, so careless with him, even knowing there was an element to his nature that was not careless at all.

Perhaps that's why I allowed him to see me like that with no reservations – because I knew that, if he truly didn't want to see me, he'd look away; so the fact that he didn't meant that he wanted to see me – and, secretly (again, I wasn't sure if it was me or the alcohol doing the thinking, but), I wanted him to as well. His steady gaze on my naked form – somehow, this idea didn't strike me as embarrassing or shameful... and, in fact, made my stomach tingle ever so slightly as I dressed myself and then turned to face him.

Sure enough, his head was propped up, resting on one hand, as his eyes locked immediately with mine. And within one silent moment, his deliberate blink my way spoke volumes – and before I could logically work out why in my head, I found myself automatically being drawn to him, to his inebriated but quietly sultry gaze, literally – disregarding my own welcoming bed and instead sliding onto the mattress beside him.

Without uttering a word of question as to what I was doing on his bed, he pulled the duvet up over us, taking special care to lift it adequately over my shoulders (and this tiny detail reminded me of the mystery covering from the night before; he'd probably been up most of the night, what with his recent insomnia, and had been gracious enough to cover me when I'd gotten cold in my sleep). His solemn expression never waned, and when the warmth of the duvet surrounded us, I gave into my inexplicable urge, and found myself resting my head on his covered chest, one arm draping casually – but carefully – over his belly.

Again, no words were needed – he simply slipped one arm under me, holding me in a loose embrace as I felt him lower his head and plant a kiss on top of my head. His other arm snaked around my torso, pulling me closer, until I could feel him pressed against the entire length of my smaller form.

And there in that sweetly calm but appreciative embrace, I found something remarkably close to the kind of comfort I'd longed to feel from another person for ages – and, I think, he found something too. Something warm and assuring, something he'd needed for a long time as well, which, I hoped, could help him finally find a kind of peace inside that allowed him to sleep – actually _sleep_ – for the first time in months.

Or, at least, in a predictable world, he should have enjoyed that comfort. But of course, this was Simon – so I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when I woke a few hours later, still groggy from the drinks and disoriented from the dim, hazy lighting of the room to find him awake – maybe not very alert, from the glassy sheen to his eyes as they met my own bleary ones, but awake nonetheless.

"Hey," I whispered softly to him as I tried to work out what time it was without reaching for a clock. "You get any sleep?"

He shook his head shortly, but the small, dazed smile on his lips as he continued peering down at me reinforced my belief that he wasn't quite all there yet. "'S awright, though," he assured me gently, and I could still feel his arms wrapped firmly around my body, perhaps even tighter than before I'd drifted off.

I rubbed blindly at my eyes, then decided that keeping them closed felt like the best way to go. "You should try 'n relax a bit more, then," I suggested pathetically through a stifled yawn as I snuggled closer into his inviting chest.

He snickered lightly. "It's relaxin' enough just watchin' you."

I smirked at that – but eventually, in the silence of the room, his words sunk in. I slowly opened my heavy eyelids and looked up at him quizzically, taking in the weary but awed expression on his face.

"How do you do that?" he whispered, still smiling a bit.

I realised how intently he was gazing at me then, and the inebriated carelessness from hours before seemed to evaporate. I hid half my face against his firm chest and mumbled, "Do what?"

"I dunno," he admitted sheepishly after an awkward pause. "Sleep so peacefully, I guess. It's really sweet."

Trying to ignore the undeniably endearing charm he always exuded, especially when somehow managing to successfully pull off cheesy lines like that, I simply shrugged. "Helps to have a comfortable pillow."

He giggled at that, and I felt soft fingertips gingerly stroking my hair. "Maybe that's it."

I hesitated to break the serenity between us – but as my own fingers shifted slightly and I felt the soft fabric of his trousers again, I was reminded of our conversation earlier that night and smirked.

"Well, at least your lower half is comfortable though, right?" And I deliberately stroked the side of his half-covered hip to indicate what I meant. "You said they were luxurious, didn't you?"

I felt him laugh lightly, his breath ruffling my hair briefly. "Aye, that they are."

I peered up at him curiously, a glint in my eyes. "Were you serious before? When you said... y'know... you weren't, um... wearin' any?"

He lifted dark eyebrows to go with his sneaky smirk. "Y'don't believe me?"

I squinted at him, not sure if he was just toying with me as usual or not...

"And... are they really that soft on the inside as well?" I asked, my voice unintentionally going husky for a moment as I trailed a finger over the edge of his waistline and his hip itself – and the feeling of his warm, bare skin sent unexpected tingles from my finger all the way up my arm.

He held my gaze steadily, cocking an eyebrow at my doubtful question. Then, in one fluid, smooth movement, he dropped his arm from my waist and reached lower, hovering over his belly.

"See for yourself," he answered as he casually undid his trousers – though in the silence that ensued, the sound of his zipper was slow and deliberate.

He didn't blink once; as I stared into his dark eyes, that daring grin still displayed coyly on his face, it began to dawn on me, what position I was in – we _both_ were in. My breathing coming slow and even, I silently took him up on the challenge, and after an adequate pause, I slid my fingers daintily over the sharp arc of his hip, down the slight curve of his toned belly to the open fly. I swallowed hard, hoping he couldn't hear me, and – somehow still holding eye-contact – eased my hand between the crushed velvet and the warmth of his smooth flesh.

So. I'd gotten a hand in his pants. Now what?

Well, there wasn't exactly a whole lot I _could_ do, other than the very thing I found myself wanting to do, so I did it. Carefully, I pushed down further, fingers and palm blatantly dragging over his pelvis until I reached what was his unmistakably hard cock, pressed rigidly against the side of his thigh in the restraints of the tight trousers. His soft intake of breath could have been a pleased gasp at the sensation of my touch, or it could have merely been a typical breath – I couldn't tell. At first.

But as the silent, tense seconds ticked by, and my hand worked lower and more confidently around his member, I could feel his pulsing against my fingers, and the darkness in his eyes became clearer to my gaze. And his usually grinning mouth faded into a slackened expression of relenting, eyelashes fluttering faintly as I purposefully curled my fingers around him and gave a long, painfully slow stroke.

That time was an undeniable gasp, and the shiver that followed confirmed it.

Letting my gaze on him soften, I lifted my head and nuzzled closer to him, continuing in my long, languid caresses as he ducked slightly and brushed his nose and lips over my cheek. I felt his trembling breath flow over the skin of my neck and couldn't help but quiver slightly in return, startled by how just the warmth he sighed was able to send invisible tendrils to lightly tickle my belly inside. I had to gulp again when I tightened my grip around him on one stroke and a faint whimper escaped his lips, so close to my ear now.

"You've... gotten better," he purred, reminding me of my first foray with Dom into giving handjobs – and Simon's own unexpected interference (and aid).

I smirked vaguely, my throat feeling dry even as I swore I was salivating. "That's just my left hand," I informed him, a trace of humour to my confession even if I couldn't force it into my strained, husky voice.

Sometime during this hazy, unreal experience – perhaps the moment I'd felt the hard, hot pulsing against my hand – a strangely familiar yet still new sensation had begun building in my gut, and was now growing – quite literally – into something physical, tangible.

"Oh?" he chuckled. "And what can the right one do?"

I locked eyes with him and stated, as seriously as I could muster, "Miracles."

He giggled at that, but didn't say or do anything else to sway me into proving my own words – instead, he let me continue touching him in that lazy, dragging way. I didn't know how he could just lie there and take it so coolly, when most boys probably would have started begging me to go faster.

But Simon somehow seemed more in control, even if he was the one having my torturous, slow ministrations creep over him. But then, as he'd said before, he _was_ more experienced – and it seemed, oddly, that this rare breed of teenage hormones preferred and responded positively to a more measured, snail-like approach – as opposed to what I had been used to by then...

Not that Dom's full-on, hungry advances were unwelcome, of course (if I was in the mood). But there was definitely a distinct difference – and I imagined most average boys wouldn't be this patient, the fervent urgency of needing to get off usually dominating the course of a make-out or fuck session. I knew I probably would have reached a point where I'd have to just say "Fuck it" - and then do just that.

But Simon seemed to be in no rush, no matter how long I took (part of which was due to my hesitancy, my insecurity over whether I would even be able to... satisfy him). He didn't push me along or demand anything; simply let me go at my own pace, let me gain the slight thrills of tiny things, like the flicker of something in his eyes, or the hitch of his breath.

And when I felt the hand still lingering behind my back reach up to slide inconspicuously under my shirt, I began to see what draw Simon's "preference" held – the languid, contented luxury of simply enjoying being touched at all, paying close attention to the tiny details, which actually built the sweet tension up even _more_. Like how his fingers traced random shapes over my back, but drew shivers of sheer delight from my body when they purposefully hovered over the curve of my shoulder blade, or tenderly caressed my tailbone, or found the exact spot on my spine that made my back arch.

So when his chin nudged my head back slightly and his moist lips brushed over a rather sensitive part of my throat I'd never noticed before, the rush of such a discovery caused _me_ to nearly yelp out loud – and _I_ wasn't even the one getting the handjob.

I felt Simon smile into my neck, my own sound of approval seeming to please him as much as his quiet gasps did to me, and his hips twitched faintly, thrusting slightly into my grip. I realised then how I was lying on my side, pressed fully against him, and with a slight shift, I found my own aching relieved a bit by pushing gently into his side, just below his hip. Hearing my breath quicken at this contact, he obliged my unspoken need and rocked himself into me, brushing his hip directly against my trapped cock and making me flinch with the pleasure. As I buried my face in his shoulder, bending my leg to get a better angle at his offered help, I noticed his chest starting to rise a bit more erratically than before. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the partially-open shirt, plainly teasing me, but I didn't want to let go of the now throbbing shaft in my hand either. I nudged my chin lower, lazily rubbing my crotch into his side while pumping him at the same time, and impatiently latched my teeth onto his collar, tugging at it to try and expose him a bit more.

Simon seemed dazed at my suddenly persistent neediness, and as his head flopped to the side and his eyes drifted closed, his free hand came to hover over his chest, obeying my heavy breaths by unbuttoning the rest of his shirt for my hungry eyes. He turned his head back to me, the sultry look in his eyes intensifying as the helpful hand then took a different direction from the relenting slave and tangled instead in my hair, pulling me in at the same time that I ducked my head low to catch the steel hoop in my teeth.

A well-hidden fact about Simon – only Ben and I knew, actually; not even James had gotten _this_ close – was his nipple ring. It wasn't a big deal, per se, but for all his thinly-veiled tattoos (because kids our age weren't "supposed" to have them yet – and he had a _number_ of them) and lame attempts to cover up the things underage kids at our private school weren't "supposed" to have, I personally found it to be a strange turn-on for me. The first time I'd seen him shirtless, the idea of it had stuck with me for a while afterward, making me wonder what it would feel like, what benefits it had – or if it was just for decoration (a decoration he really wasn't allowed to show, actually...).

But that night, I discovered another mysterious secret about Simon that – again – probably only Ben knew about as well: I'd heard before that men weren't quite as sensitive as women when it came to that particular area; but, whether it was the piercing itself or just another Simon phenomenon, the boy had remarkably sensitive nipples.

So when I immediately clamped my mouth and teeth around the pierced pink nub and started teasing it with my tongue, Simon threw his head back and let out such a sexy, deep moan that my cock lurched against his hip; I eagerly thrust against him repeatedly as I gave him this sweet torture – and he responded more to _that_ than direct contact with his cock.

Not that, as I finally released him and shifted to pull myself to my knees, his cock wasn't weeping and throbbing desperately by then; to ease his ache, then, I knelt beside him and, still leaning over his chest to lick and tease his hardened nipples, tugged his beloved trousers down lower, entirely off his hips to leave him exposed to me. I pulled them even lower, down below his knees, before settling myself between his spread thighs and running both my hands up and down his naked torso. His fingers still trapped in my hair and under my shirt, he whimpered helplessly when I laced the tip of my tongue through the silver hoop and tugged gently. He cursed under his breath at my daring, squirming as I tested how much pain he could take, but soon he couldn't play the docile role anymore – the next moment, he was groping for the hem of my shirt, yanking it up over my head almost before I could pull away to let the thing come between me and my attempts to make his nipple as sore as possible.

And in the process of stripping me, his hips lifted slightly from the mattress, brushing his naked erection against my crotch harshly. We both ended up affected by that, and as he tossed my shirt to the side, he grabbed for me with his other hand, sitting up fully to meet me in a heavy, frenzied, full-on snog.

I let his powerful kiss overwhelm me for a long time, reveling in the sensation of being devoured whole, his panting breaths rushing over my cheeks as I tasted the familiar cigarettes and slight tinge of alcohol on his tongue – somehow, that bitter combination managed to still taste sweet, especially when blended with his skillfully hidden but now plainly obvious longing. His touch on my shoulders, in my hair and on my jaw, was so demanding, yet pleading as well. As if the few layers I'd peeled back with a few clever ploys – feeling him up, teasing his piercing, proving my own desire by dry-humping him, letting him see my weakness when he found that new spot on my neck – had caused a dam to break inside of him, and now his arousal was every bit as consuming as I'd imagined – or _hoped_ - it to be.

I was enthralled, then, at the opportunity to sit back on my heels when I broke the kiss and urged him onto his back again, and let myself drink him in with utterly attentive eyes – as Dom had done to me before, I now found myself doing to Simon, with him lying splayed and – almost – vulnerable in front of me (though he certainly stood a much better chance at overpowering his "tormentor" than I had). I almost felt ashamed by how fierce the urge was to maul him as I gazed down at him – as if this longing was wrong, or that I wasn't the kind of person to feel _that_... well... _horny –_ and, after all my fussing before, over someone other than Dom.

But, God, the body in front of me made my cock ache, made my chest ache, made me whimper and mewl like a shameless tart as I raked my hands over his leanly toned muscles and felt their smooth fluidity as he shifted and reached for me.

I ducked from another oncoming kiss – which would have surely melted me from the inside-out, rendering me helpless and passive again before I did all I wanted to first – and dove for his chest, trailing kisses down the front of him, down his hard stomach to his navel; sliding onto my belly, I gripped his hips with both hands and held onto him tightly as I nuzzled them – my lips and tongue planted squarely onto the strategically-etched star tattoos his uniform usually covered up. He fell back again as I took advantage of these perfectly placed decorations, pressing into them eagerly, as the pressure into his abdomen obviously spurred on his arousal.

I wondered vaguely, then, just who had been the lucky bastard who'd done these particular pieces for him – how had they gotten to those spots? Had he been naked for the whole ordeal? Had it been painful? Indecently pleasant? Addictive? Had it turned him on?

But all of that pondering faded when, after tracing them both in turn with my tongue, I reached the middle of his abdomen again, inches below his navel, and finally paid some attention to the very obvious hard-on pressing into my chest. I glanced up at him briefly, saw him supporting himself on his elbows and watching me with curious, half-lidded eyes, panting heavily and licking his lips.

Watching me as if asking if I was really going to do this. I smiled faintly at him, then bowed my head and hungrily took his hot, trembling cock into my mouth.

Simon instantly tensed, head jerking back as I nearly swallowed him whole on the first go; he gave a start of pleasure, which gradually turned into a low, sensual purring as I sucked at him, moaning myself around his aching arousal. Though I held his hips, he still managed to rock into me as my head bobbed while I suckled, licked and nipped my way around his swollen cock, surprising myself with how much I was enjoying giving it this time to someone else – I hadn't done it very often with Dom, as he usually liked doing it to me first before actually fucking me. But this – this power I held felt amazing, and seeing and hearing Simon react to the tiniest actions, the smallest shifts, was so bloody gorgeous and enticing, I could finally understand why Dom liked driving _me_ crazy like that.

Of course, perhaps it was also a thrill for me to see _Simon_, of all people – cool, collected, unabashed and coyly sardonic Simon – coming undone like that, relishing the contact, losing himself in the pure feeling of being wanted, devoured, desired so badly – that made me groan with an arousal I couldn't even begin to describe...

I thought I finally had him – not that any of this had been a conscious attempt to one-up him at last, but the thought occurred to me then, amusingly. But I thought that finally, I'd found something to lord over him...

But, as he'd said before, he _was_ more experienced – and he sat up suddenly, gasping to me to stop, easing my head from between his legs before I could feel his release spilling over my lips.

"Wait, not yet," he hissed, and captured my still hungry mouth with his own in another staggering kiss. When he pulled back, _I_ was the breathless one, so winded that I almost didn't notice him slipping his hands under my boxers and tugging them down with the ease of a true expert.

"Matt," he gasped into my mouth, pulling at my waist as he tried to turn me around. "Please... I... I need you... I can't explain it right now, but I need you – like this – just like this..." He stripped off his shirt the rest of the way and got to his knees, all the while hypnotising me with his lingering kiss.

How I could have not known what I was in for, I'll never understand, but I actually dared to act startled when he urged me to turn around, his bare chest pressed firmly into my back. It wasn't until I was kneeling there, my legs spread wide and his open mouth on the back of my neck, that I finally understood what he meant – what he needed. And my cock nearly jolted with anticipation when I felt him forcing his own into my tight entrance.

I buckled forward, groaning in uninhibited ecstasy into the pillow as he entered me – apparently so aroused that his only lubrication was his pre-cum, as it somehow didn't really hurt as much as I thought it would, considering his size – which was a bit more than I was used to. Oh, don't get me wrong – there was certainly pain. But it was the kind of pain that tore into me in such an exquisite way that I could only cry out into the pillow again and again as he pulled back and thrust inside again.

Simon draped himself over me heavily, embracing me tightly in his powerful arms as he stroked me – long, slow, but _full_ strokes, making me feel totally and utterly encompassed, even if _he_ was inside of _me_. In such a position as that, it was difficult _not_ to feel as if I were being overwhelmed by some kind of otherworldly force (not that Simon wasn't an otherworldly force on his own, of course...), but even then, as one hand encircled my own pained erection, I still ended up whimpering and whining in uncontrolled need to have him as deep inside of me as he could go. And he didn't disappoint – each thrust felt like he was forcing me to feel every last inch of him, but at the same time, the way he clung to me, the way he held me so preciously, like I was his lifeline in a tumultuous storm, it only proved his utmost passion to everything he cherished the least bit in his life. Giving everything to me, every ounce of strength he had, every movement punctuated with a gasp of sheer pleasure of my name, like fucking me was all he needed, all he wanted.

So much emotion put into an act I'd previously renamed as a solution to boredom – coming from one of the very people who had encouraged me to see it that way, ironically enough.

As good as it felt, as good as he was, the most important thing to me in that moment was just how much he'd been telling the truth – the _real_ truth, for once – when he said those words: he _needed_ me. And for once, making love finally felt like what I'd always imagined it was supposed to be. And when we came together – _actually_ together – the cry of release he let out was so satisfying (and satis_fied_), it shook me to my very core.

And after we settled our racing hearts and heavy breaths, I turned around to him – and he actually _did_ fall asleep in my arms; for the first time in months, the boy _slept_.


	17. Chapter 17

Title: Lesson 17 – How To Waste A Day (Plus A Bonus Random Lesson!!)

Rating/Warnings: NC-17, language, slash/smut, tad o' fluff, tad o' angst, pre-revision.

Feedback: is well-cum.

Disclaimer: This is fiction. Look up the meaning.

.

Simon:

That entire time, to this day, was a bit of a fuzzy mystery to me. My skewed perspective only took in bits and pieces of information and altered them to my own fancy, or will. But that day – that day in particular – was the first time in a while I felt clear, lucid, "together," shall we say. Most of that time was spent in another state of mind – a state I can't now get into, as the reasons behind that state are no longer quite as intense as they had been just after they'd happened. Except that one day, in the middle of it all, when everything seemed perfect – that was when I knew.

Waking up felt remarkably different than most times I'd jerked awake from short, fitful kips in those previous months. This time it was quiet, peaceful, like drifting out of a fog-covered ocean onto a deserted beach. It took me several minutes to remember where I was, but for once I didn't mind, didn't care that I was confused as to how I got there. I realised eventually that I felt so at ease because I wasn't sitting bolt upright in bed, shrieking at some phantom to let me go, yanking myself out of a terrible dream I couldn't recall but only felt vague waves of nausea and panic from.

Instead, when I opened my eyes, I saw a pale, slim shoulder outlining my view, a scrawny, hairless chest my cheek rested on, and I watched it rise and fall rhythmically for a long time before I lifted my chin to look up into Matt's slumbering face.

I was content to just stare up at him for a while longer, but my slight movement seemed to rouse him, and when his long eyelashes fluttered open to peer at me, I smiled faintly at hi m, wondering if he would feel as puzzled as I had at first – or if he would put everything together and freak out, as Ben had that morning all those months before.

Luckily, he seemed a bit more aware than me – and grumbled teasingly as he winced, "Ow – fuck, haven't you shaved yet?"

"I only just woke up, ya pansy, ease up," I told him, secretly relieved he wasn't nearly as jumpy as Ben had been when he'd remembered what had happened the night before.

"Well, go shave then, your whiskers are killing me." And to reiterate this, he reached under my chin to scratch at his chest.

So, for revenge, I dug my chin into his chest vigorously.

"Oh, itchy, is it?" I taunted. "That a little uncomfortable on your sensitive skin, princess?"

He growled something scathing at me, though I had no idea what it was, then lazily reached over my head to make a grab for a clock – which wasn't there.

"Oi," he mumbled. "Where's your clock?"

"Oh, ehm... didn't unpack it yet," I lied, picturing where the bloody thing probably still sat at that moment in my bedroom in Glasgow.

Matt sat up, staring down at me dully. "How long've you been back now, and you still didn't unpack it?"

I couldn't tell him the truth without having to explain everything – which I simply didn't want to do... and probably wouldn't have been able to do without worrying him more... So I just shrugged helplessly and smiled again. "Guess not."

He rolled his eyes and twisted his head around, peering over at his own larger digital one across the room.

I ignored the clock – wasn't too worried about the time myself. Especially when I had a very warm and comfy body pillow all to myself right beneath me. I tried to huddle in further against him, forgetting about my painful stubble, until Matt suddenly jerked upwards, sending me tumbling to the side.

"_Holy shit!_" he yelped, startling me.

"What?" I actually felt a bit panicked myself, the way he carried on.

"It's almost four in the afternoon!" he wailed.

It took me a moment to let that sink in – this meant that he'd slept through an entire day of classes, without permission from the nurse or the dean; this meant he would have to report to one or both of them and explain his situation... whatever that situation was... and see if they would let him off the hook.

I smirked, shrugging carelessly. "Really? Jesus, mate, you sleep like a fuckin' bulldozer, surprised I didn't wake up from that schnoz--"

"Oh, shut up, Mister Insomnia!" he quipped, flicking my own bare shoulder playfully. "You shouldn't tease me, you should be thanking me!"

I settled in comfortably beside him, propping my head up on one arm and grinning placidly down at him. "Thank you for wearing me out."

He folded his twig-like arms over his cute birdchest and huffed, "You're welcome. Jesus – oh man, I'm gonna have to go see the dean--"

"Nah," I brushed it off easily, waving a hand at him. "Go to the nurse. Just tell 'er the truth."

"The truth!? That we were wasted and shagged out of our minds?"

I paused to reconsider this plan, furrowing my brow. The way _he_ put it, it sounded kind of... _bad_. "Ehm... Okay, maybe not the _whole_ truth. But just tell 'er you were worn out. She'll tell the dean, and he knows how hard you work, he'll understand."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, with my marks so far this term, he may rethink my status in class."

I raised my eyebrows at him in interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah – been kind of distracted lately. Mind's not been on my work."

I blinked, surprised to hear of this strange turn of events. Matt the Study-holic, not doing his studying? "What's been distracting you?"

He glanced away, his cheeks turning bright red. "Well... You, really."

I slowly began to understand, and I couldn't keep the smug smirk from playing about my lips. "Aw, Bells... I didn't know you cared so much!" I teased, pinching a fiery pink cheek.

"Oh, shut up," he griped, swatting me away irritably. "I'm paying for it now, ain't I?"

I giggled and leaned my head down to bump his with it. "I'm so touched – truly, that you would fuck up your grades just for me – that's true love, mate..."

He covered my entire face with his palm and freakishly long fingers, shoving me away with a scoff. "Shut it." He actually pushed so hard that I fell back and bonked my head against the wall behind me. And still the nerd continued on as if I wasn't just maimed by his carelessness. "Man... I'm gonna have to really buckle down and get with the program again if I wanna regain my previous standing. You, too."

I'd since recovered from my torture – still rubbing the back of my head like a giant baby – and cocked an eyebrow at him, as if I had no clue what he was speaking of. "Hm? Me?"

"Yeah, how's your make-up work coming?"

"Oh," I sighed, ruffling my hair and glancing around aimlessly, wishing he'd focus on something else. "Fine. It's fine. I'm really enjoying this more, though," I insisted, snuggling down against him again and kissing his shoulder.

He peered down at me quizzically. "What?"

"Hm?"

"What `this'?"

I shrugged, draping an arm over his waist. "This – hangin' out with you, reminiscing about old times..."

He gave me an absurd look. "Reminiscing?"

"Yeah..." I snickered and glanced up at him coyly. "Hey, Bells, remember that time we had _sex?_"

He scoffed, staring up at the ceiling. "Vaguely. Weren't we both pissed?"

"Aye."

"And weren't you wearing some God-awful gaudy trousers--"

"Oi!" I snapped, pushing myself up higher to lean my weight on one elbow. "You _liked_ them trousers, mate, remember how hard you were rubbin' off on 'em? I wasn't sure if it was me or you that you were tryin' to get off--"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, quickly becoming embarrassed at my blunt reminders, "the trousers were nice, I'll admit. But it _was_ quite a quick shag, though, wasn't it? Barely remember it now--"

At his whimsical and rather fleeting recollection of it, I gawked at him. _"What!?_"

He tried to smother a smile, both of us knowing he was just riling me up for the fun of it. "You were a slow builder, sure, but when it came down to it, blimey, I've had wanks that lasted longer--"

I gave a start, eyes wide and jaw sagging at his gall. "You little dick! I'll give you `quick'--" I tried to threaten as I pounced on him – yet he still managed to get one better out before I had the advantage.

"I think you already did--"

I scoffed at his daring, on my knees by now and trying to stuff the entire pillow into his mouth – while it was still behind his head, too, which was quite difficult. "Oh, fuck you, mate!"

He was giggling furiously, but managed to croak out, "I could be mistaken, it went so fast, but I _think_ you already did--"

I shoved the pillow aside, then, deciding on a more direct route this time – straight for the armpits. "That's it, you want long? I'll give you long, then--"

But just as I started tickling and wrestling him, he leaped from his space on the bed and somehow got to tackling me onto my back, grabbing at my hands and trying to ward me off. "No, no, no, hang on there – you go too fast, I'll just have to tease you all over again--"

I fought with him for a few moments, but finally gave in, flopping back on the mattress as he crawled onto my belly.

"Okay, okay, I give up," I heaved, letting my arms fall to my sides helplessly. "Apparently I'm not quite as experienced as you are, eh? Should just let you have all the fun--"

He was still grinning by the time we settled down, but the twinkle in his eyes was not quite as innocent as the smile on his face seemed. "No," he insisted, kneeling over me, my waist between his legs as he leaned forward and ran his fingers over my chest – purposefully grazing my pierced nipple a bit for the hell of it. "It's not that. It's just... well, maybe you're just a bit _too_ experienced."

I raised my eyebrows at this suggestion, putting my hands behind my head and trying to seem like the epitome of cool – despite the slight shudder I gave from him toying with my ring.

"Oh?"

His grin fading a little, he leaned still closer, nuzzling my neck affectionately. "Yeah. Maybe... You should let me... go at my own pace."

"Your own pace?" I repeated, not knowing where he meant to go with this reasoning. But I had a feeling I wouldn't mind where it ended up.

"Yeah..." He sat up again, his fingers trailing down my chest again, over my ribcage. "And maybe... my own pace is... well..." His voice grew quiet, slightly raspy, his eyes avoiding mine as they followed the path of his fingers instead. "...getting to enjoy you a bit more."

I was perfectly happy to let him have his way with me with no objections at all, at first – but when he slithered a bit down my bare legs in order to reach my already half-hard cock, I caught his slight wince and the way he fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment before resting just above my knees again.

So I couldn't just let it go without saying anything. Horrible to spoil such a nice moment as he just wrapped his long fingers around me, but I had to interject, "Ehm... Think maybe you'd enjoy me a bit more with some lube this time?"

He glanced up at me, obviously recalling that I hadn't been quite as attentive the night before, and his sheepish smirk gave that away. "Ah – good idea," he muttered, then twisted behind himself to snatch the tube off my dresser by the foot of the bed – which gave me the sneaky opportunity to push myself up. Before he was even turned back to me, I was kissing his chest, running my teeth and tongue over his collar bone. He obliged and let me nip at him for a bit, my hands exploring his tiny waist and tight little ass as he spread some lube over his hands – but then he took control again as he gripped me in his now slick fingers, sliding a kneading but firm grip over me repeatedly as I relented and sank back down on the mattress again. He smiled a bit, his eyes switching from my face to his own working hands, and it amused me greatly to see him so enthralled by the power he held just by holding me.

"S-So," I stammered, losing my breath as he tightened his fingers around the head and pumped with his other hand. "You, uh... you enjoy that, do ya?"

"Mmhm," he nodded. "Do you?"

I let my head tilt back as he worked at me, biting my lip as the darkness swirling behind my eyelids made me dizzy with arousal. "Mmm... 'Specially at... your pace..."

"I like these too," he murmured, and before I could open my eyes, I felt his lips pressing against my abdomen. I struggled to get them open, then, and tried to lift my head. My eyelids felt heavy, my breathing shallow, as I peered down the length of my body to see him hovering over my belly, kissing my tattoos as he watched me back with wide, cautious dark eyes of his own. His hands were soft and sweet as they grazed over my skin, sliding from my groin to my stomach, caressing me with such tenderness, as if he were afraid to – but his hesitance, at the same time I saw the hunger in his gorgeous eyes, felt lovely, and that barely-there contact was enough to make me swallow hard and hitch my breath as his fingers glanced back down between my legs. All the while keeping a steady gaze locked on my own fluttering one. I could feel my arousal growing as his lips brushed gently over my belly, his head tilting down to obscure his face from me, though I felt his long lashes gingerly sweep over my skin as he ducked lower to nuzzle my hip.

"You don't... mind... do you?" His voice low and sultry, though timid, as it met my ears.

I snapped my head down to him, stunned that he would ask me this. I propped myself up on my elbows for a better angle at which to gawk at him.

"_Mind?_"

He glanced up at me finally, a sly smile on his red lips. "Just thought I'd, y'know.... make sure..."

My eyes were wider than his now as he lifted himself from my legs to come face-to-face with me. To encourage him, I sat up more, hooking an arm around his waist to pull him closer against me. He inhaled sharply as his erection met mine and I pushed upwards into him, lifting my hips slightly from the mattress to meet him. He let his eyelids droop, leering at me seductively as I peered back in curiosity. Our lips were barely a hair apart as I let out a husky whisper, "You can do anything you want to me. I won't mind at all."

His hands slid up my chest, until his arms were entwined around my neck, and he caught my mouth in a quick kiss before hissing back shyly, "Then... Can I..." He paused, gnawing nervously at his lower lip, which still looked sore from the other night, to keep from speaking.

I reached up between us, carefully prying the lip out from under that cutely jutting tooth, then running my thumb over the soft flesh to ease the pain he'd given himself.

"Won't heal if you keep chewing it," I reminded him. Then couldn't help but replace my thumb with my own lips, gently but firmly, making him close his eyes in a quiet moan as I lifted my hips to rub against him again. He broke away with a small whimper, pressing his forehead to my own as he gulped and tried to find his voice again.

"What is it, baby?" I whispered, slipping a hand between our bodies to wrap around his hardening cock. I looped a thumb around my own and squeezed them together, pumping slowly as I worked my hips to push him further. "What do you wanna do to me?" I urged him, licking at his slackened lips as he thoughtlessly rocked into my hand. His fingers traced a firmer touch into the back of my neck, up into the tangles of long hair – until I felt them stiffen into fists, tightening his hold to gently tug my head back.

I felt the throbbing in his cock before his breath began to quicken, but the dazed, glassy look in his half-lidded eyes was really what gave away just how mesmerised he was. His mouth brushed tentatively up my jawline, pausing just below my ear as he whispered, so quiet I wouldn't have heard him if he hadn't been so close, "I... I wanna... take you... into me... have you inside me... Keep you with me forever..."

I hadn't expected him to get beyond a physical yearning – hadn't quite thought he'd reached an emotional need by then, anyway. But hearing his words did something to me inside – more than I thought it would. The longing he felt – for _me_ – made a lump form in my throat, hard to swallow. So after a few attempts, my heavy panting must have come across as something else – but either way was all right, really – and he lifted his head to look down into my moist eyes with something between heated lust – and impassioned awe.

He slowly released one hand from my hair, reaching between us to ease my hand away. I felt his fingers grasp my cock with more confidence than he'd shown the night before. He shifted on top of me slightly, lifting his hips to align himself, then guided me into him – slowly, carefully, drawing a long sigh from me as he came down on top of me with a slightly pained but determined expression. I couldn't stop myself from thrusting further upwards as he moved, and the startled gasp he let out was one of surprised pleasure. His guiding hand dropped to my waist, and as he steadied himself on his knees and began rocking back and forth on top of me, I lost my breath, felt my arms go weak and tingly from the sensation of being inside him, and he helped ease me onto my back again before pushing up on my chest and looking down at me as he moved.

It's not like I didn't know what it felt like; it's not even that I didn't know what _he_ felt like by then. But still, lying back and watching him move as he rode me, it felt like a whole new experience. I was able to see every fluctuation of his small, smooth muscles as he controlled how deep I went (even despite my own unintentional thrusts), could see every expression of pain and pleasure on his face, could see how enthralled he was to have me inside him. His body swerved and curved on top of and around me, and all I could do was stare up at him and marvel at how beautiful he looked as he so gracefully undulated his hips, reveling in the act itself. I fought to let him keep that illusion of control for a while, letting myself be the one to do nothing, save for the occasional snap of the hips if he moved a certain way or moaned in a particularly alluring manner.

But soon I couldn't keep my hands off him – they reached out and gripped his hips, and I loved feeling the small bones beneath the small, pale flesh glide over my palms and fingers. For a while I just held him like that, relishing the way he seemed to love fucking my cock, tightening around me at certain moments to make me groan or whimper in ecstasy. But then I found myself yearning to do more than just take it all – I tightened my hold one his hip with one hand, slipping the fingers of the other around his erection, caressing and massaging in a measured, sensual grasp that made him shiver, his stomach tensing up visibly as I handled him. I guided him in a slightly different rhythm then, putting more purpose behind my thrusts and pulling at him just at the same moment I felt myself hitting his prostate. He buckled at the sensation, almost yelling out plainly as I repeated this, again and again, his head tilted back in an open expression of bliss. I felt myself weakening inside, a tension in my belly coiling tighter and tighter as I watched him twitch and squirm breathlessly. Before he came too soon, though – he'd wanted this to be _longer_, after all – I let go of his cock and gripped his hips again, holding him steadily in place as I thrust up in _long_, deep strokes. He moaned and fell forward, his hands planted on my chest as he let me guide him, but still eagerly rode me in a rapidly quickening flow.

"Oh, Simon," he groaned, desperately seeking out my mouth and claiming it forcefully. He pulled back, panting, and begged me wantonly, sounding on the verge of tears, "Fuck me, Simon, fuck me, I want you so deep in me--"

I was already pushing myself up from the mattress, tipping him to the side and easing him onto his back as we switched positions. I caught him under his knee with the crook of my elbow and lifted his leg high enough to come almost level with my shoulder, never once pulling out, and leaned in over him as I plunged deeper inside. He cried out sharply, his voice catching an octave or two above his normal tone, and I had to bite my lip to keep from coming just at that sound.

His hands cupped my face, brushing sweat-dampened locks back as he kissed me, whimpering and moaning into my mouth with such uninhibited arousal that I couldn't even tell how hard I was penetrating him anymore. He seemed to love it, though, bearing down on me with every stroke, arching his back to press his cock against my stomach muscles and rubbing fiercely, begging me over and over again to fuck him deeper, harder, faster.

And somehow, though our physical positions were switched and I was penetrating him, he managed to take control of me then – or, at least, made _me_ lose _my_ control. I was trembling fiercely, unable to keep from crying out with every stroke, driven on madly by the hitch in his pleading voice and the heat of his inviting body. I buried my face in his neck, practically sobbing and gasping as I shoved into him again and again, the sound of damp skin slapping damp skin filling my ears and his hot breath on my cheek, his hands caressing my shoulders, my back, my hips, pulling at me, his legs wrapping around my waist, then spreading wide again and lifting his hips to angle himself for a direct assault on his "sweet" spot.

"Oh, Simon, yes," he urged me on, his voice quivering with excitement. His hands slithered down the small of my back to my ass, and he gripped me tightly – inside and out – and yanked me into him with more power than I knew he had, squeezing firmly as he moaned, "Oh, that's perfect, baby, just like that, fuck me... Feels like... you belong here, baby..."

And hearing him say those words, in such a moment of pure passion and lust like that, I felt myself crumbling from the inside-out. My breath heaved out of me as I gave it to him just as he liked it – but then the words came tumbling out as well, in the spaces I could get enough air to gasp them.

"Matt..." I lifted my head from his neck and looked into his equally wide, manic eyes. "Matt... please... promise me something..."

He had no idea what was in my swirling head, no matter how scattered and coloured it may have been – I meant every syllable.

"Anything, baby," he whispered back, kissing my cheek, my mouth, my forehead. "Anything you want--"

I lowered my head again, nuzzling his neck as I struggled to keep my orgasm at bay – I had to know, I had to tell him...

"P-Promise me... if they come for me soon... promise you won't let 'em take me away..."

I was too absorbed in my own rush of emotions, spurred on by the physical exertion, to completely fathom his confused silence; I just kept moving, my muscles sore and aching, but well worth the pain of it to feel his soft, loving warmth surrounding me, enveloping me. He only gasped for breath as I kept fucking him, trying not to see the blank stare he was giving me – I didn't want to, only wanted to see that lovely heat in those eyes again...

"Who? What're you t--"

"Please," I begged this time, my fingers digging into his flesh desperately. "Just promise me..."

He tried to pull my head up, pushing my hair back to see my face, almost frantic in his movements – but I just kept rolling into him, smooth and steady, almost wheezing with the effort now.

"Simon..."

Finally, I slowed, the fear overtaking my arousal – I held onto him tightly, my arms like vices around him as I spoke into his damp neck. I couldn't think of any words to convey everything I was thinking then, everything that flowed through my mind and body – but holding onto him like that, just as I had the night before... but this time, in the harsh light of day, without the aid of alcohol and with a clearer head than I'd had in weeks – it felt more intense than I'd thought it would. And the only thing I could do was clutch him to my chest, to my body, feeling like we were breathing the same breath, and tell him what I could muster.

"It's just that I... I don't know where I belong anymore," I choked out brokenly. My throat felt sore, bruised, as if I'd swallowed rocks. "I don't feel... Everything is so _wrong_..." I closed my eyes and huddled into him further, felt him hugging me in response. "Except here... when I'm with you..." I shifted my hips again, rocking into him, pulling a sweet moan of pleasure from him as I felt a jolt of delight flicker through me as well. "That's the only time I feel right now," I went on, my voice less frightened even to my own ears; in fact, I sounded downright... enamored, really. "So please, don't... don't leave me alone..."

His fingers laced through my hair again, pulling me up to kiss me. "I'm right here, baby," he whispered, looking deep into my eyes as he spoke earnestly against my lips. "I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

I stared back long and hard, making sure he was being honest – and the look in his eyes was nothing but genuine.

I reached up, gently tracing the outline of his face, drawing invisible lines on his sharp cheekbones as I studied him, still moving slightly inside him, which made his eyes roll back and his breath seep out in a long quiver.

"When you said that before," I murmured, "when you said you'd take me however I am... not tryin' to change me, or how I felt... and you weren't spoutin' off with all those lies about... things bein' okay... when you said you needed to see me, no matter what I was like..." I had to pause, swallowing hard and running my fingers through his hair while I caught my breath; but when he gazed back up at me, the intensity of emotion in his eyes alone made me lose it again, and I curled over him, kissing his shoulder. "I think I fell in love with you then."

I felt him tense up in my arms, ever so slightly, and he let out a soft gasp. His muscles tightened around me, edging me closer to orgasm as I felt his cock lurch against my belly. I pressed down harder, sliding against him to rub his aching erection between us fiercely. He winced and tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering briefly.

"...in love... with _me?_" he squeaked, his voice so small and timid – yet hopeful, a tad unbelieving.

I nodded, thrusting just a touch deeper to make him shudder. "I just... only feel right when I'm with you..."

He swallowed hard, and though his arms around my chest locked firmly behind me, he did suggest, "I'm sure if you saw Ben or James, things would get better--"

But I shook my head vehemently. "No... No.... I can't..." I buried myself deep inside him again, and Matt moaned, pressing his lips together. "Just let me stay here with you..." I pleaded, kissing his throat.

After another quiet moment, he hazarded, "Simon... Who's... after you...?"

I winced, an almost physical pain forming in my gut from the thought – I turned that jolt into a catalyst to thrust into him one more time, putting just enough pressure on him with my stomach that I felt him jerk beneath me, a cry of startled bliss overtaking his quizzical nature. And feeling his muscles spasm around me, and the liquid heat spilling from him between us, I let myself sink into that gorgeous release that had been waiting for me to give up control all this time – clutching his shoulders as I pressed my forehead to his and felt his breath flutter over my face, I drove into him fiercely and let the wave of relief hit me at full-force, ripping another muffled scream from my throat as I hid my face against his cheek and came inside him, his arms holding me to him the entire time as I trembled and shook against him.

Panting heavily, still feeling the sweat trickling down my back and arms, I repeated in a tired whimper, "Promise me? Please?"

He didn't hesitate this time – only kissed me before whispering back, "I promise."

Though I was too spent to put a voice to it, when he pressed his lips to mine, I mouthed those words he'd longed to hear for so long...

It's just too bloody bad Dominic chose that exact moment to come bursting into the room, apparently an apology dangling from _his_ lips – only to stop dead in his tracks when Matt and I both whipped our heads up to look back at Dom's stunned, gawking – and suddenly mute – face.

"D-Dom?" Matt panted, squinting his eyes. "Wh-What the fu--"

His eyes like saucers, his face going white, Dom's shoulders sagged sharply before my eyes as I lay hunched over his friend, still damp with sweat and trying to catch my breath. He blinked once, as Matt tried to squirm out from under me, and then his gaze locked with mine. I swallowed hard, uncertain of what to do or say in this situation – there were all sorts of things I could throw at him, could use as reasonable explanations, which he couldn't argue with...

But I couldn't find the heart to utter one word – the hurt and shock in his eyes was obvious, and no matter what I felt for Matt, there was no way I could justify those feelings to Dom. Not then. Maybe not ever.

So as Matt struggled to sit up in bed and make some kind of sense of everything, Dom turned and sauntered out of the room like a dejected puppet, closing the door behind him without getting on with whatever apology he'd had in mind. And while Matt scurried out of bed and rushed to find some clothes to throw on, I searched for my own discarded trousers and fought through screaming muscles to get them on as well. Matt was much faster than me, however, and within moments, as I was still trying to get the damn tight velvet contraption over my waist, he was zipping out the door to go yell at Dom for barging in without even knocking.

I'd just found my shirt when Matt reappeared in the room, looking scattered and worried.

"What is it?" I asked, my shirt hanging limply from my hand as I tried to sort through all the repercussions in my head – I would have to catch Dom at some point, I thought; not that he'd be willing to do any favours for _me_ at the moment, but I had to try and convince him not to go blabbing about me being back...

Not that that was the worst of our problems at the moment...

Matt was pacing back and forth already, raking his hands through his hair frantically. "I dunno, I dunno," he stammered, shaking his head.

"What'd he say?" I pressed. "Did you... Did he--"

"He wasn't there!" Matt wailed to me, now very obviously frightened. "I-I went down and knocked, but Chris answered and said he wasn't there."

I took this in steadily, trying to keep my head about me – no need to panic yet; maybe he wouldn't run into anyone on campus... maybe he wouldn't rat me out... as long as we caught up to him fast--

"Chris said he'd come in looking all flustered and said he was goin' out. Like, _out_, out. I think he meant, like... downtown or somethin'... The clubs... He's pissed off, I know that, I can guess that. I think he's... I think he's doin' it to be a dick," Matt spat out viciously – though the concern was clearly just beneath the surface. "Goddamnit, what an immature little prick! He _knows_ he shouldn't be out by himself, especially on a Friday night, at this time--"

I glanced outside, noticing the dimming light. "Ehm... It's not all _that_ late," I tried to point out with a small smirk.

But Matt was already lost in his own rant. "He's angry, because he caught us... like that... but he's the one who didn't want anything more, y'know?"

I shrugged; couldn't argue with that – but again, maybe Dom just hadn't been _ready_... but... if he wasn't ready and Matt was, and someone else came along who _was_...

But I couldn't find it in me to shake it off with a simple, _Tough shit_. My stomach churned at the thought of Dom hating me because of this.

Although, given the choice, I much rather would have had him hate me than _Matt_...

"He's just doing it to get me riled up," Matt continued. "We had this argument before – sayin' he'd hope I'd be afraid if he went off on his own without tellin' me, that sorta thing – now he's done it on purpose, I _know_ he has, the little cunt..."

But I could still see his hands shaking.

I pulled on my shirt, trying to rouse myself up to get my energy going again. "Well, we'll just have to go get him," I said matter-of-factly.

Matt finally stopped and turned to me, tilting his head to the side as his face took on a helpless but apologetic expression.

"Si... I... I'm sorry it happened like this--"

I waved it off easily, reaching for our coats, handing him his. "Look, it doesn't change anythin', right?" I asked hopefully, raising my eyebrows in question. "I mean, of course we're gonna go after him – but even if this causes a fight between you two... for whatever reason... My feelings are... y'know... That's how I feel. 'Bout you, I mean."

He flinched, accepting his coat and clutching it tightly to his chest as he looked away from me.

"Just wanted to make that clear," I reiterated. "So you know. The rest is up to you."

He swallowed hard; I could see the tears in his eyes. But when he looked back at me, he forced a smile. "Thank you."

It wasn't exactly an answer of whether the reverse was still true or not; but it was enough for me. I pulled on my coat and stepped up to him, planting another kiss on his lips. It must have been a good sign that he didn't stop me or pull away.

Then I grew serious again and told him, "But we really should keep him from goin' too crazy out there." I gave an involuntary shudder as I glanced outside and mumbled, "All sorts a' evil people in those places someone like Dom wouldn't think of runnin' into. A kid that looks like him, at his age, in places like he's probably gone – never know what someone'll pull. Just ain't safe goin' there alone."

"_You_ went out alone all the time," Matt pointed out, a slight chuckle to his voice.

I stared out the window for a few more moments, then turned back to him. "I know," I said solemnly. "Like I said – it ain't safe." And before he could ask me to go on, I pushed by him to the door.

"Oh, so he gets beat up," Matt scowled as he followed me out the door. "It's not exactly a fun time, okay – but who knows, maybe he could use a bit of a beating right now--"

I hardly remembered turning around, but in the next instant, I was grabbing Matt's arms fiercely, glaring hard into his eyes – just catching myself in time before I'd slammed him against a wall.

"Don't... be so flippant," I warned, a flash of fear in my eyes apparently taking him off-guard. I loosened my grip on him and added under my breath, "They'll do more than that... Nobody deserves _that_..."

And as Matt hurried to follow along beside me, and I started mumbling thoughtlessly to myself, my clear and lucid hold on reality began to slowly slip away again.

**Random Pointless Lesson**

Summary: why eavesdropping can be dangerous. Poor Chris.

Rating/Warnings: depends - could be a very innocent G - could be almost an R if you think that way. but I'll say at least PG-13 just for language. 

_[some comedy before the trauma....]___

_Chris__:_

_Earlier that year...___

It was an innocent mission for me: go to Matt's room to see if Dom was in there. I was stuck on some homework and the bloody bugger wasn't in the room, so my next logical guess would be Matt's. But before I could even knock on the door, I was cut off by a loud thump and a strange squeal from inside that made me pause and listen in startled concern - and perhaps just a touch of perverted curiosity...

"**_Ugh_**! Simon! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" It was definitely Matt, and a rather irritable, put-out Matt, at that.

"Mine. Gimme." The unmistakable grunts of Simon's short, choppy accent cut through the door - demanding, dominating, and even making _me _flinch.

But Matt apparently wasn't as easily shaken as I was - he had, in fact, spent the last several months living with the bloke, so it was understandable... "Get off, you wanker, that _hurts_!"

"Oh, get over it, you big baby. Stop cryin'," Simon mocked mercilessly.

"I'm not cryin', I just got somethin' in me eye - oh God..." A surprising moan of resigned acceptance. "Just don't, like... kill me or anythin', okay?"

"Oh, calm down, Bells," came the easy brush-off. "I've done this before, y'know, not like I'm some inexperienced novice - I'm a bit better at it than you are, I'd imagine--"

"Jesus!" Matt yelped suddenly. "Watch what you're doing with that thing! God! You're gonna do it wrong!"

"Well stop yellin' at me and let me do it, okay? Christ, didn't know you were such a screamer--"

My eyes widened at that; I hadn't been aware of it either, apparently...

"Nonono, not there - **_NO_**!! Simon!!" A mortified wail - made me wonder if I shouldn't have possibly been barreling through despite not knocking...

I held back anyway.

"What? It's a perfect fit--" Simon chided.

"It is _not_!"

"Give it a second, it'll get better--"

" _God_, it hurts to even look at! Oh God, I'm dyin'--" Matt sounded just as he said - a pathetic whine of a protest.

_"_You think it's bad now, but believe me, I know what I'm doing, just give it a fuckin' minute--"

"It **_hurrrrrts_**--"

"Stop whining, ya baby--"

"Look at what you're doing to me! My God!"

A slapping sound jolted me out of my stupor, my eyes like saucers.

"Off! Don't touch, you pussy, just shut up and trust me!"

"_Ohhh _God, oh God, oh - **_oh_**! Not so fast! Slow the fuck down, Simon, you're fuckin' _killin' _me here!"

"I said, get your hands off, ya wide-o, _I'm _in control here - Whooooa, lookit that!" Simon's triumphant laughter echoed through the door, despite Matt's agonised wails.

"Nooo way, no waaaaay!"

"What?"

"Look at that thing! Bloody hell, there is no fucking way that thing is gonna fit in such a tiny opening!"

"C'mon, Bells, you're so fussy, just let me put it in - look, it is _not _too big, it's a perfect fucking fit, these things were _made _to fit together, so calm _down_--"

"_**AAAAAAGH!!" **_The yell made me jump yet again.

"WHAT!?"

"You've done it!" Matt bawled shamelessly. "You've done it now, mate! You've killed me!"

"I did not--" Simon snapped back, sounding insulted.

"I _told _you it was too big!"

"Give it a few seconds, just let it slide in--"

"_**AH**_!"

"There, see? Perfect fit, just like I said - you're the one who wanted me to go slow. Now, will ya trust me already? Watch this--"

"NONONO!! Would you stop going so damn fast! I can't keep up when you--**_AGH_**! I can't take it anymore! _**Aaaagh**_!"

The door in front of me suddenly shot open, and a black-haired (and, strangely, fully-clothed) blur bolted past me - hands over his eyes, causing him to smack into the opposite wall before collecting himself again and jogging away - a pitiful blubbering coming out of his mouth the entire time.

Puzzled, I turned back to the now open door and peered into the room.

Simon stood in the middle of the room, holding a video game controller and making a smirking, smug face at the screen on the table between their beds - which displayed the dreaded "GAME OVER" message over the filled space of Tetris cubes.

"Aw, guess it didn't fit after all," he snickered to himself. He glanced over, finally noticing my presence, and waved. "Hey, Chris."

"What the fuck?" I hissed, unable to keep the scorn out of my voice when I saw how he'd ruined my mate's game. (Or, okay - maybe for letting down my more devious side with such a pathetic reality.) "I thought you were fuckin'..._killin' _him in here!"

"I had to," he protested, gesturing to the screen. "He was gettin' too close to beatin' me high score. Can't have that."


	18. Chapter 18

Title: Lesson Eighteen: How To Spot A Psychopath

Rating/Warnings: R for language, bad ideas, slashy hints, angst. Lots of flitting back and forth here, sorry. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: Snot true. Dunno any of em. Not even the fictional character.

Chris:

I can't say I wasn't bothered by the whole ordeal – whatever ordeal it was. I really had no clue. Only that Dom had stormed into the room a few minutes before Matt, muttering something under his breath before slamming a few things around, then grabbing his coat and barking that he was going downtown. I'd tried to get more out of him than that, but when I started to get up out of my comfortable position in front of the telly, he just waved his arms about furiously and said something about Matt being a wanker and needing to go have some fun. Then he was gone – and just as I'd decided, after some deliberation, to go back to my shows without a fuss, Matt came pounding at the door, demanding to know where Dom was.

After I told him and he vanished once again, I began to let the gears in my head start turning on their own. And I wasn't fond of what they were spinning. Before long, I was feeling rather concerned, and wondering if I shouldn't just go and take care of things myself. The two of them had fought numerous times before, and I'd known about their argument on Thursday, but I'd been under the impression that Dom was ready – according to his rant the night before, anyway – to give in and apologise first for being such a confusing dick.

My words to him, actually – which, trust me, he hadn't been too pleased to hear. But after my own rehashing of the situation to point out what had led me to my calling him this, even Dom had to admit that perhaps he'd unintentionally been stringing Matt along with no actual hope of resolution... so maybe some clarification ("Either end it totally or just fucking propose to him already, Christ!" had been my exact words) was in order.

I supposed, then, that whatever Dom had decided had not been well-received, judging by his reaction to _Matt's_ reaction. Then again, I realised, it _had_ been a mighty short trip, but I wasn't sure – how long does it take to make up or break up with someone? Really depends, I guess.

But whatever had happened, the result was obviously not very good. And if Matt was – no doubt – going to go try to find him, it was certainly better to have at least one of those freaks on a leash before sauntering anywhere near town.

So I was a bit surprised, then, when I got my coat on and stepped out of my room to nearly smack right into another body darting in the opposite direction, toward the side staircase. I caught my balance, as did he, and blinked when I recognised – just barely – the unusually pale, lightly stubbled face glancing back at me with huge, almost frightened eyes.

"Simon?" I asked, instantly thrown. I noticed Matt was just coming up beside him as we'd collided, and I looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment. "When did--"

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Simon uttered as he twisted away with a look of disdain. "Just what I fuckin' need..."

Simon – being _unfriendly?_

Yes, even more surprising than his presence at all was the twitchy, caustic way he came across; not only did he _look_ ill, but he hardly sounded like himself either, all raspy and retched, and he practically stumbled the rest of the way down the hall to the side staircase, pulling the hood of his coat over his head as he barreled out the doors.

Matt offered an apologetic look, explaining briefly, "Look, don't tell anyone he's around, okay? He's not handling attention very well right now, and we all know everyone would bug the shit out of him if they knew, right? He's still trying to, you know, get over it..."

I was too stunned from the look of reproach he'd given me, as if he hadn't recognised me at all except seeing someone he loathed, to say much to that – but, as Matt said, he had some legitimate reasons to be a bit out of sorts, so I tried not to let his immediate "greeting" get to me.

"We're gonna go look for Dom," Matt was saying, obviously noticing my coat. "Did he say which club he was going to, by any chance?"

I shrugged helplessly. "Just said `downtown.' Look, Matt, if Dom's really upset, maybe we should, like, tell one of the teachers – they might be able to help out--"

But Matt only grimaced, shaking his head sharply. "No – no, this is kind of, um... personal, don't you think? I mean, you must know _why_ he's pissed, right?" he added, a soft, cynical chuckle creeping into his voice as he glanced toward the doors Simon had just slithered through.

I followed his gaze, then snapped my head back around to him in confusion – there was a faint smile on his lips, a touch sheepish and a _load_ awkward.

I blinked, my eyes like saucers. "You and S--"

"_Shhh!_" Matt hissed, waving his hands at me to lower my voice. "Look, it's just a little too uncomfortable to discuss with a _teacher_, okay? Let's not go bugging them with our petty little squabbles if we don't have to."

And despite my indecisiveness to agree, he left his choice at that and followed after – oh good lord – his new "lover," I supposed.

But I was still unsure of this whole plan – the two of them – a naturally unbalanced freak and a temporarily unbalanced boy still stricken with grief – going after a ticking timebomb like Dom?

I finally made a decision (of sorts) and headed for the main office – though I still had no idea what I was going to do once I got there.

Simon:

Despite the dimming light of dusk, partway through our walk into town, I thought I caught sight of a familiar car coming up the road toward us. Here, Matt was teasing me for constantly looking over my shoulder, but he had no idea what I was up against – and this very car could have been the proof behind that claim. Once it got close enough that I could see the driver, I knew my discretion was legitimate, and I immediately – without thinking or explaining to Matt – ducked down and scurried off the shoulder of the road, heading instead for the trees beyond the concrete. Matt followed behind, calling to me when I got a bit far from him, wondering what I was doing.

Well, I couldn't _tell_ him, of course, so I went with Plan B: once he caught up to me (and I checked over his shoulder, past his curious gaze, to make sure the car hadn't stopped or turned around), I told him, "There's a shortcut through the woods here. Thought it might be better if we're trying to catch up. We'll end up a little to the east of the main road in town, but we can start checking the clubs and pubs from there..."

Which was true enough, really, though it wasn't _the_ truth.

Matt considered this as he continued following me through the trees, though he eventually found a flaw in my plan: "Well, Dom doesn't go into town a lot. If he was upset and wanted to get back at me, like, he'd be going about it the quickest and most convenient way, wouldn't he? He'd just walk the road into town and go into the first place he came across, wouldn't he? So really, we're kinda starting out backwards, yeah?"

I hid my face with my stringy, unkempt hair as I stomped onward, wishing for once that Matt wasn't so clever.

"Aye, maybe," I started to agree, then added, "but y'never know. He may've just wandered out a bit further if he wasn't thinkin' straight. There aren't many places in town to check, really, so it shouldn't take as long as y'might think..."

I trailed off, purposefully leaving it at that to keep him from arguing his way into getting us to go to that first club on the main road. The sense of it was even lost on the part of my own mind that was still rational, knowing that if I was actually wanting to keep Dom out of trouble, I'd go straight there. But the rest of my brain screamed at me to stay out of there, so I followed that instinct instead, ignoring my rational side completely.

But I suppose even my hidden fear couldn't stand up to the blasted inevitable; by the second place we weeded through, I somehow just knew we were on the wrong track. Even if my belly churned at the idea itself, when we left the club together – Matt becoming more concerned the higher the moon got in the sky, and me getting less and less coherent as the tense minutes and the echoes of our footsteps wore on – I knew what had to be done. Much as I hated to do it.

"Okay," I gave in finally, taking stock of our position and measuring how long it would take us. "Maybe you were right – a more direct approach is probably more like Dom, eh?"

"Not always," Matt pointed out, "but when he's ticked off and not thinking right, yes."

Bracing myself for the panic to set in, I started heading in the appropriate direction. "Let's go – first one, it is."

Dr. House:

I made my tottering way from the parking lot slowly up to the front doors of the main office, all the while puzzling over what I'd just seen – or, at least, _thought_ I'd seen. I was so lost in my own head that I somehow managed to miss seeing the ridiculously tall kid sitting hunched on the concrete steps beside me, though I felt silly for overlooking him at all.

"Oi, Doc," he greeted me, his hands fidgeting thoughtlessly with his sleeves as he peered up over his shoulder at me.

"Mr. Wolst—Chris," I returned – like anyone wanted to repeat that name whenever addressing the kid. "What're you doing out here? It's bloody cold, y'know."

He smirked, but didn't seem too keen on turning that into a smile. "Um... I'm just kinda..."

I raised my eyebrows. This was one of the fewest members of this particular brood of young British terrors I had not had much contact with, apart from the typical student-teacher relationship. And I was quickly finding out _why_ – the boy looked absolutely confounded as I stood there and sized him up, his eyes darting back and forth in his head, like playing a private mental game of ping-pong.

"Ummm..."

I tapped my cane on the ground and shrugged. "Well, okay, then – I'll leave you to that--"

But just as I turned to go into the office, he was on his feet.

"Wait, Doc – can I... can I talk to you for a sec?"

I dropped my hand from the door and turned to him, a bit startled that I actually had to look _up_ at one of these lazy gits for once. I wondered briefly what kind of nonsense this one had for me, judging by the company he kept, and almost groaned out loud.

"Look, um..." The kid tucked some wayward curls behind his ear, looking like he was contemplating the repercussions of dropping a massive steamer right there in front of me.

"Something wrong, Chris?" I urged, growing weary of how wishy-washy some of these boys tended to get (not to mention cold). Teenagers: they never know what to say, even when they have something _to_ say.

Which was why – the thought flew through my head randomly, making me squeamish with sentiment – I had such a tolerance for Simon and his no-nonsense bluntness... most of the time.

Chris heaved a tremendous sigh and gave up, blurting out, "Well, see, I've got this problem, right? Only I dunno what I should do, because my instinct tells me I should let someone else know, but I've sort of been asked not to do that by other people who're involved, so I don't wanna, like, betray their trust or go back on my word, but I really don't think they – _we_ – can handle this on our own this time."

I squinted at him, completely ready to brush him off and tell him to go puzzle over this dilemma back in his dorm where there was heat – but something else stopped me from being so casual, something in his face, in his eyes...

Or it could have been the pressing concern of what I was almost sure I'd imagined on the way to the school.

I stepped up closer to him, speaking confidentially, "This wouldn't have something to do with a couple of your miscreant friends, would it?"

He hesitated, but only momentarily before he nodded.

"A certain paranoid midget and the pseudo-Don Juan he thinks he's enamored with?" I suggested.

Chris grimaced – either for betraying his promise or at the troubling descriptions. "Yeah. They, uh... They had a fight or somethin'. _Again_. And Dom went off on his own. Matt and Simon went after him, but I don't--"

"What did you say?" I demanded harshly, suddenly very serious.

Chris immediately cringed, shaking his head. "Shit – I wasn't supposed to tell--"

But I had no time for Chris's guilt – I grabbed his arm and repeated vehemently, "Did you just say Matt and _Simon?"_

Chris's head snapped back faintly, his eyebrows knitted in a curious fashion. "Er... Yeah... You're staff, you knew he was back, right?" He sighed and looked positively miserable. "I just... feel like crap for blurtin' it all out now..."

I dropped my hand from his arm, peering out over the empty campus, my gaze lingering on the long road I'd just driven down. So it hadn't been my imagination.

"I know," Chris was going on forlornly. "I know I'm not supposed to mention him, 'cause he wants to, like, lay low and all so he won't be bothered, Matt told me all about it."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Did he, now?"

"Yeah... And I guess, since Simon was with him, I figured it wouldn't be _as_ bad as him goin' alone... But I just feel like... like a tool or somethin', rattin' 'em out like that – though I'm only tellin' ya 'cause, y'know... I'm kinda worried..."

I guess the kid saw the sharp flash in my eyes, because he trailed off vaguely, watching my expression with timid curiosity.

"No," I assured him steadily, turning around to stare at the doors to the office as a plan began formulating in my mind. "No, it's good you told me, Chris. Well, we'll just have to go and fetch them, right?"

Chris balked at me. "_We?_ Go fetch them? Like, just you and me?"

"Yeah, what's wrong, your ears clogged? You and me, right now. Only I have to go in and talk to the dean for a second, so go out to my car and I'll meet you there in five minutes. Oh, and Chris?"

The kid was staring back at me with doe-like eyes, obviously stunned at having been roped into my little excursion. "Huh?"

I tilted my head to one side. "Does anyone else know that Simon's back?"

He hesitated again, then shook his head. "I don't think so – Matt said he didn't want it broadcast."

I nodded slowly. "Of course not."

By the time I met Chris at my car, the kid was shivering. I let him inside and turned the heat on, chiding him for not having a warmer coat to wear. Before pulling out of the parking lot, I asked if he was able to drive.

"Yeah," he answered as he rubbed his chilled fingers together briskly. "Don't have a car yet, but I've got my license."

I nodded. "And how about... Well... How good are you at wrestling?"

At this, he turned to give me absurd look. "Eh?"

I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it must have come out all wrong, because he just looked disturbed by the mere thought as I went on.

"I'm asking you because I may need to use your muscle if and when we find 'em, as I'm obviously not up to the task," and I tapped the cane set beside me on the seat.

"Er... muscle? What _for?_"

I let out a heavy sigh and pulled the car out of the space, barely paying attention to whether I came close to scratching any other vehicles in the process.

"See, Chris, there's a reason Simon doesn't want anyone to know he's back." I paused for a millisecond before gunning the engine and pulling out erratically onto the road – sending Chris groping for some handles to keep from being jerked around too much. "That's because, well... he _isn't_. Simon's been missing since Monday."

Simon:

My hesitation before we even got to the front door of the club was obvious, as Matt paused and turned to look back at me carefully, seeming perplexed.

"This is the place, right?" he confirmed. "This is the first one on this road coming from the school? The one with the ignor-anus bartender?"

My voice had gone and faded from my throat, so all I could do as I stared up at the ominous metal doors was nod.

"Well, c'mon then," he urged, and charged them with much more courage than I could possibly muster.

There was no doorman by then, so I reckoned it had to be after eight. Reluctantly, I followed along, my stomach folding nearly in half as I entered the club and was greeted with the typical drum-and-bass beats of electronic music and loud voices trickling just over the noisy din.

Matt held onto my arm tightly at first, and while I tried to merely get my bearings, he shouted to me that he would check the second floor if I would take the first. Looking out over the dancing sea of multi-coloured bodies of the crowd, I felt numb and jittery at the same time. I nodded dumbly at his request to meet back there in fifteen minutes, not even sure what I was agreeing to, and he let go of my arm.

As soon as the weight on my limb was gone, I felt a jolt of panic rush through me, but when I looked over, Matt had already been swallowed up by the crowd. I caught sight of him briefly as he made his way up the wrought-iron staircase to the second floor, and realised that I was, once again, on my own.

And the first thing I decided to do – what I _needed_ to do then to calm my electrified nerves – was go get a drink.

Matt:

At first I was sure this club would turn out like the other two, with us wandering around aimlessly for what would feel like an eternity with no sign of Dom before finally giving up. I honestly hadn't even thought of what I would say to him once we did find him – _if_ we ever found him. What was I supposed to say, or do, to make things better? Why would he even want to speak to me at all, if he was angry enough to go off on his own like that? Would he bawl his eyes out and beg me to take him back after a blubbering apology? Or would he try to hit me instead?

But within minutes of reaching the second floor, I knew I had to come up with something, as I soon caught sight of his shaggy blond mop, bobbing and swaying to the music as he chatted with a few other clubgoers – all female, I noticed as I weaved my way through the dancing bodies to get to him.

I thought I would at least feel some relief once I'd found him, but instead, my stomach started to churn the closer to got to him. I began to lose my breath, becoming more certain of my feelings with every step. With Dom in my sights, there was no question anymore in my mind as to what Simon had been talking about – that love one feels for another, when you know in your heart if your connection with that other person is real or just wishful thinking.

Forget an old, loyal friendship that lasted for years, and forget desperate neediness from someone who's been through hell and just needs comfort. There was really only one answer for me as I reached him and tapped his arm, saw him turn to face me and look straight into my wide eyes with his own stormy gray ones – which I'd hoped, for so long, to see looking back at me with what I'd always thought would be a fond yearning.

His fake, plastic smile faded when he took me in, a slightly startled expression overtaking it – and then being quickly replaced by a half-sheepish, half-surly glower.

"Matt," he mumbled, barely audible over the music. "The fuck you doin' here?"

I held his gaze firmly and squared my shoulders, swallowing hard. "We need to talk."

Dr. House:

"What I'm going to tell you is strictly confidential, but since I'll probably need your help, you should know what's going on. But remember, you aren't to discuss this with anyone outside of this situation, as it's really a private, personal matter. But I'm sure you understand that."

Chris nodded instantly, the worry etched on his face like a permanent mask. "Of course."

My eyes and attention were on the road in front of me, but my mind was somewhere else completely. Probably out there somewhere, taking a peek ahead to wherever the kid was by then. As calm and casual as I forced myself to be on the outside, internally I was a bloody wreck. I hated to confess it, even to myself – but I'd been so since a week before.

"Yesterday around three o'clock, the dean received a frantic phone call from Mr. Neil. I've been staying in touch with him for the last few weeks, not just as a friend, but as something like a consultant. He's incredibly worried about Simon, with how he's coping with his mother's death – or, rather, _not_ coping with it. He's been acting quite... well, `odd' is a poor choice of words considering the subject, but _odd_ even for Simon. Because his brother works and his father has a business to run, Simon spent a lot of time in the house alone after his mother died, so his father doesn't know exactly how long he's been exhibiting these symptoms, but they really became noticeable last week: wandering around aimlessly, forgetfulness, anorexia, insomnia – any time he did sleep, he'd wake up shouting from nightmares he said he couldn't remember.

"Then he found him in his parents' bedroom, where he used to look after his mother when she was ill – but he was talking, seriously having some kind of conversation – with someone who wasn't there.

"After that, Mr. Neil caught him a few more times, talking to himself – or maybe to someone he hallucinated. It came to a head last Friday, when they ended up having a row – actually, more like a physical _fight_ – because... Well, through the course of a conversation, Simon outright _spoke_ to his mother as if she'd been right there in the room with them. Mr. Neil tried to remind him, tried to tell him that she was gone, and Simon... basically had a psychotic episode – cursing at his father, spouting nonsense gibberish, threatening to kill him, threatening to kill him_self_... He tried to cut his own throat with a kitchen knife, but when Mr. Neil had to physically tackle him to the ground to stop him, Simon had meltdown. He was suddenly convinced that his father was trying to kill _him_ instead, and after a struggle, Mr. Neil finally got out of him that... well... just before his mother died, Simon _was_ attacked. In one of the clubs in town.

"During that fight, Simon was yelling at his father as if he _was_ the man who hurt him. He had a full-blown delusion that the guy was right there in the house with him, coming after him. That's how Mr. Neil found out everything the guy did to him. And what he did... He really, _really_ messed him up. Enough to scare Simon to the point of actually _going_ mad.

"I talked to his father that night and advised him to get him professional help as soon as possible. So his father was going to take him to a psych hospital on Monday. Maybe Simon overheard the conversation, maybe he just had a feeling that it would happen – hell, maybe he had no clue and just continued on his little psycho flipout... But when his father went to his room on Monday morning, Simon was already gone.

"He and his other son searched the area all day. They had the police searching since Tuesday. When nothing turned up anywhere around Glasgow by Thursday, his father was desperate enough to entertain the idea that he'd somehow gotten all the way back here. The dean called an emergency meeting with the staff yesterday afternoon, alerting me first, since I'm close with the family and Simon in particular, and because I was consulting with his father. We were asked not to give out any information to students because, obviously, we don't want to worry or distract his friends, but we were all told to keep an eye out in case he showed up on campus.

The thing is, the kid's been through a lot recently, and with the behaviours he was displaying, I'm not all together certain that he _is_ in his right mind. He did obviously manage to find his way back here, but that still doesn't mean he's got it together in his head enough to be able to make rational decisions. And if Matt's with him right now..."

"That means Matt might be in danger too?"

"Well... I honestly don't believe Simon would hurt him, or let anything bad happen to him. If anyone would be safe with him right now, it _would_ be Matt – at the funeral, he showed signs of being that comfortable around him, which he didn't even seem to be around his own family. I think they have a strong enough bond, a stable enough friendship, to not worry about Simon hurting him."

Chris coughed vaguely – and I swore I heard him mutter something like, "Prob'ly more that _that_."

I glanced over at him briefly, but he just shook his head, looking away.

"But," I went on, narrowing my eyes at him, "that's not to say he's _not_ dangerous – more a danger to himself than other people, though, I think. The kid's state of mind is very fragile right now, and to be honest..." I let out a long breath, dreading the words even as I spoke them: "To be honest, I'm really just worried about his sanity. I saw him just barely starting to crack a few months ago, and after everything that's happened, it would be ridiculous to think he hasn't suffered some kind of severe mental break by now. If I can just get to him first, gain his trust, maybe I can help him before he completely loses it."

"Well, he seemed all right to me," Chris interjected. "Maybe a bit irritable, but mostly... well, of course he'd be irritable – here, he was trying to hide away from everyone, and three people caught him..."

"Hmmm... If what you're _hinting_ is true, I doubt he came back here just for the scenery," I quipped. "So maybe one of those three people was _supposed_ to see him – but you and Dom, obviously, weren't that person."

Chris gnawed on his lip, keeping his eyes on the road outside, still trying to catch a glimpse of his friends trudging along. "Then I guess, if he came all this way to be with Matt again, that must mean he feels safe with him. And if he's with Matt right now, then he shouldn't be that close to losing it. Right?"

I considered the boy's theory; blimey – one of them actually made some _sense!_

Unfortunately, despite my agreeing nod, I had to remind myself that this was never as easy as words made it sound.

Simon:

I was surprised to find myself starting to slip into a comfortable, panic-free ease by only my fourth shot of whiskey, but then the rumble in my tummy reminded me of why – I hadn't eaten a thing in almost four days. So the alcohol went directly from my empty stomach to my dizzy head, and all of my limbs felt warm and tingly within minutes.

I dimly tried to recall what Matt had said before disappearing upstairs, and finally decided that he _had_ said to meet him by the doors again in fifteen minutes. I was sure that time was nearly up, and I hadn't taken any time to look for Dom at all, but I still paused to get one more shot – just to be sure.

A minute later, feeling more confident that I could handle this – and too out of it by then to care about the nausea – I turned to start a quick scan of the dance floor.

But the alcohol had been stronger on my weakened system than I'd reckoned, and as I tried to stop myself, the room just kept right on spinning around me. I slumped back against the bar for support, felt myself slipping from that, and laughed mindlessly to myself at my own stupidity. I knew I was about to tumble to the ground, and I had to laugh at how careless I was being – it actually felt _good_ to be able to laugh at all in this place, really. I was rather impressed with myself, at my ability to block out the terror I'd initially had about going in there at all.

Then, as I felt my legs giving way, a firm and steady arm latched onto me from behind, supporting my back before I could go down all the way. I was quite startled at this unexpected gesture of help, and I turned to thank Matt, who must have found me after his search of the upstairs.

My mind was already gone by then – if I was entertaining the idea that _Matt_ could break my fall, I clearly was not in my right mind. Which was why I was so shocked when I turned my head to see the awfully familiar face of the lecherous gym bunny lingering beside my own.

"Easy there, tiger," he breathed into my ear. "Seems someone's bad at holding his liquor, eh?" He chuckled, sending shivers of pure disdain down my spine. "Fancy meeting you here again."

I was frozen in place, my eyes gaping at the bulbous red nose that had no doubt just gotten done snorting a few too many lines.

His twisted grin and the dangerous glint in his glassy eyes seemed to confirm this, and I felt my own heart beating furiously against my chest as his words reached my ears: "Come back for more, have you? See, didn't I tell you? I knew you liked it."


	19. Chapter 19

Title: Lesson Nineteen - How To Bend Reality  
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, language, slash, non-con, nonsense rambling - may offend some with weak stomachs (despite maybe not being TOO graphic). Pre-revision.  
Feedback: is love.  
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Which is a very good thing. Never happened to these people, and these people are not actually these people anyway.

A/N: This ain't a pretty one, so I'm sorry if you don't like it - it's not meant to be sexy, like other sweaty porn i've dabbled in. but this is how the story goes. this one's a bit shorter than most, too.

and btw, this says nothing of what i feel/think about the people the characters are based on - i have nothing but the utmost respect for them... (though yes, i do drool when i see them, but that's just preference *ahem*)

that said, i really DO love my little fictional characters - no matter what i put em through. promise. 

Matt:

It took me a while to convince Dom to leave the "party" so we could be alone, but eventually I managed to pry him away from his female admirers with enough nagging. To my surprise, he led the way, causing my previous stance as the annoying motherly type to slink back behind my sheepish pain-in-the-arse role. As he swaggered his way through the club as if he owned it (no doubt a delusion brought on by the half-empty bottle of lager he swung around carelessly - one of many, I was sure), I followed behind like the obedient little lapdog I'd played for so long. It was clear that no apology would be forthcoming from his lips tonight, as he seemed to be staunchly on the side of being the hapless victim in all of this. So it must have been quite easy for him to flaunt this bothered, in-charge attitude in front of me and every clubgoer who caught us in their view.

He must have planted himself in this club at the very beginning of the night, because he seemed to know exactly where he was going as he led the way to the dimly-lit hidden rooms in the back on the first floor. Naive me, I thought we were going to the loo, but as we entered the darkened cavern, I realised that the forms and bodies all around us were far more sparse than a queue for a toilet - and all of them seemed to be needing assistance to urinate.

But then I clicked onto what they were really doing - probably from all the moaning and groaning, and I was fairly certain they hadn't _all_ been holding it in so long that every case warranted that grunt of relief that a long-awaited piss usually merits.

Dom seemed unflappable despite the rather lewd activities going on around us as we stood in a hall which led to several different separate "private" rooms (though a flimsy curtain hovering just inside a doorway was hardly what _I_ considered "private"), he merely stood against the wall, lager in one hand, and glared back at me expectantly - even dully - as I worked out what this place actually was.

"So what is it?" he demanded crisply, despite the small slur to his words. "You come all the way out here to ruin my night, or is there an actual problem on your mind?"

I grimaced as a fairly enthusiastic couple beside us bumped into my arm; I glanced at them briefly, then instantly regretted doing so - as if I was ashamed to be looking, even if they were right out there in the hall to be seen.

Dom must have noticed my discomfort, because before I could answer his smart-ass question, he was rolling his eyes and sighing in exasperation.

"Bloody hell, you're a twat," he mumbled, grabbing my arm and yanking me into the nearest small room we came across. There were people in there as well - doing exactly what God shook his disapproving finger at - but at least they were further away from us this time.

"Okay, then," he urged me, taking the exact same stance as before against the wall. "If you're less distracted now, say what you have to say, and then piss off - I'm a bit busy here..."

Such an abrasive brush-off would have normally rendered me speechless and mortified, especially coming from Dom.

But in that moment, after realising what I felt and growing less patient with his back-and-forth antics, I refused to let myself shrivel into the clueless little schoolboy I'd become used to. If I was truly feeling these supposedly "adult" feelings, then I could put a voice to them as well.

"Stop it," I hissed at him, and perhaps the vicious quality to my tone sounded as fed-up as I felt, because Dom actually blinked, startled at my suddenly confrontational demeanor. "Just stop it already, will you? Stop with the petty name-calling and the fake carelessness, I'm _sick_ of it. If you're gonna go screw around, fine, then do it - that's up to you. But before you do, you're gonna hear what I have to say first."

He stared at me, deliberately bringing the bottle to his lips for a hesitant swig. "Okay, then," he coughed slightly. "I'm listenin'."

But when faced with my own build-up, I was embarrassingly mute. I waved my hands around a bit, as if that would stir up any verbal ideas - but Dom wasn't buying it. He gave me another smug sneer and swigged again from the bottle, more confidently this time.

"Right, then," he chuckled, gesturing to me as he pushed away from the wall. "Glad to hear you've got that off your chest."

"Dom!" I snapped, catching his arm and pulling him in front of me again. "We need to talk about this..."

"I'm _sick_ of talking about this!" he hollered, getting a grumble of dissent from a fornicator in the corner to shut up. "All we ever _do_ is _talk!"_

"That's such bollocks!" I shot back sharply, my voice injected with more edge than before as a jolt of anger sparked through me. "We _never_ talk! Every time I try to bring it up, you brush it off like it's leprosy and then call me whiney, or a prude, or - or - or just plain crazy! We _never_ _talked_ about _this_, damnit!"

Dom stopped cold, his harsh expression gradually melting into something close to rueful realisation as my words sank in. He shook himself once, his eyebrows furrowed, and he avoided my penetrating gaze by picking at the label on his bottle.

"Okay, then... so... what should we talk about?" He wasn't trying to sound like a dick this time - he truly sounded baffled, as if he'd never done this before.

I raked my hands through my hair once, then let them fall to his shoulders. Gathering every ounce of courage I had at my disposal, I leant in close to him, finally finding the words I'd been searching for.

"Dom... you've no idea how much you mean to me... I think I've always... _felt_ more about this whole situation than you have. I know," I cut him off when he tried to protest this. "I know, for a while things were great. And I don't doubt you... felt something honest for me as well.

"But... things've changed, Dom. _I've_ changed. I tried to do it your way, no commitment, no strings, just having fun. And that's fine - for some people. But I can't handle that sorta thing. I can't have just a physical relationship with you - because you're more than that to me..."

He finally looked up at me, his face contorted in a pained cringe. "I _know_ all that, okay? That's why I was willing to change too - for _you_. I was comin' to see you tonight 'cause... when you weren't in class today, I thought maybe you were, like, really upset..." He choked off, averting his eyes again as they filled with rarely-seen tears. "And when I came to see you, I was gonna... I was gonna tell you..."

I sighed heavily, pressing my forehead against his as I stared down at his chest. "Dom... y'don't have to do that - to change yourself for me..."

"But I _wanted_ to," he insisted, grabbing my arms (and dropping his lager to the floor in the process).

"_Oi!"_ came an angry bark from the corner. "Will you be careful, you pansy little tarts!"

"I wanted to make you happy," Dom went on, not even hearing the disgruntled oaf we couldn't see. "An' I thought... well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad... y'know... givin' it a shot again... We been friends all this time, why would it be so hard to be, like, real _lovers?"_

I pressed my lips together, choking back the frustrated sob that threatened to come out.

_You bloody fool_, I thought to myself - and almost came close to saying it aloud. _You stupid bloody fool..._

"Dom," I finally managed to croak out, "you don't need to do that. Really."

He slowly lifted his eyes to mine, searching them desperately for understanding.

"I can't... I can't change how I feel," I went on, voice dripping with regret. "But my feelings _can_ change... and I just... I can't explain it, Dom. All I know is... I... I love him. I really do love him. And I don't think... _anything_ can change that right now. So... So you shouldn't feel like you need to change either."

Dom closed his eyes, exhaling a long, shaky sigh. His fingers flexed sporadically on my arms, and I heard him sniffle meekly.

"So it's... it's over, then, is it?" he asked quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah. It is."

"That's... That's _it?_" he snapped, slightly harsher.

I shrugged uselessly. "What do you want me to say, Dom? _Yes_. That's _it._ What do _you_ want?"

His hand trembled as he rubbed the side of his face - an anxious twitch he'd had since childhood whenever he wasn't getting his own way. "You just... You can't just say that's _it_ and expect me to be all cheerful about it, now, can you? Not after... Not after what I was... what I was gonna do... I thought that was what... you wanted."

I thought for a moment that I would relent, that I would see how upset he was getting and instantly revert back to the lapdog, the best friend who just wanted everything to be better again, to have everything go back to the way it was...

But then I saw Simon's face in my mind - the intensity of his stare as he looked into my eyes and smiled; I remembered him mouthing those words against my lips, breathing new life into them, into _me_, when I had been certain everything had all gone wrong - and the sensation that had filled me when he held me, when he made love to me, when he merely glanced at me with that coy smirk...

"What do I want?" I repeated, having been silent for a long enough time that the sound of my voice again made Dom lock his eyes with mine. Without wavering, I told him sincerely, "I want to be happy. And when I'm with him..." I trailed off, thinking back to the funeral, and the misery that had seemed to hover over my roommate, even as I sat with him and let him rest his head on my shoulder. The simple truth of my statement was still strong enough to spur an emotional response in me as I spoke it, my eyes filled to the brim: "I feel good when I'm with him. Maybe not always happy, or perfect - but _good_. Feels like... like home to me."

At this repetition of the very words Dom had once spoken to me, his eyes caught mine sharply - utterly aware of the meaning.

And to my surprise, though he took a moment to bow his head and cringe, he soon found the courage to lift it again, nodding his understanding. He swallowed hard, and for a long time, in fact, all he seemed able to do was nod, letting it settle in his head after having prepared himself before, for something completely different.

Just when I thought he was going to throw some new smart-ass remark at me for my decision, Dom raised his chin again, an awkward smile breaking onto his lips despite the tears that escaped.

"Well, shit, then. If you've found your home... I guess I'm a free man after all, eh?" he quipped, struggling to keep his smile from wavering.

I offered a look of sympathy, squeezing his shoulders - mostly a physical reaction to the wave of relief I felt crash over me when I saw his well-intentioned grin. But, even if that sentiment didn't seem to ring true for him, about me, anymore, his grappling acceptance of my assertion was obviously coming from a genuine place inside himself. As he'd said - whether he was "in love" with me or not - he just wanted me to be happy. And so the let-down I'd just served him with was bittersweet.

"I'm sorry, Dom," I rasped, my chest aching as I spoke. "I really am..."

"Mm-mm," he insisted, shaking his head now. "I'm the one who didn't want a relationship, eh? Can't really blame ya for, ya know... lookin' for what you really want."

I knew he was holding back, trying to let me go with at least a shred of dignity still about him. I hated seeing him like this, even if he was just doing it for me - but I also knew that, once the clouds of wishful thinking died away, he would thank me for not letting him make the wrong move.

But until then, I would humour his veil in front of the true veil - rather him believe his own temporary lie of accepting it and being glad to be off the hook than have him think I was patronising him.

"Thank you," I told him honestly, "for everything."

_Including_, I thought silently, _letting me go_.He must have sensed it thought, because his arms tightened around me, hugging me closely as he hid his face in my neck.

"Don't go thinkin' I'm finished with you all together," he warned, a slight chuckle to his voice. "Can't tell what'll happen in the future, eh? Never know when those feelings'll change again, right? If they do, I'm gonna be sure to be right there."

Despite his supposedly threatening words, I smirked back and patted him on the back. "I suppose... There's always a possibility..." I pulled back then, looking into his face again to make sure I had his attention. "But for the foreseeable future, anyway..."

His blinked wearily, his gaze settling somewhere around my collar again. "Yeah... Well, what can I say?" he sighed. "Simon's a lucky guy. Then again, I guess if I'd been paying as close attention to ya as he has - as I _should've_ done... he'd be the one sayin' that about me right now, yeah?"

I cupped my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to me again, our noses practically touching. "You'll still always be one person I'd lose me own head over in an emergency."

He snickered bashfully. "You mean like tonight?"

"Of course, like tonight. You bloody twat." I bumped his head again with my own, sighing with relief. "Don't _ever_ do somethin' this bloody stupid again, y'hear me?"

Dom looked a bit reluctant, but eventually agreed, "Yeah, guess it was pretty damn close to your level of idiocy, wasn't it?"

My steady gaze turned heated. "Oh, don't even start with that, you bloody - oh, forget it," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I released him and pulled away. I straightened my coat and shirt again, wiping at the moisture around my eyes as I tried to pull myself back together. "Nevermind, I'm just... y'know... glad nothin' bad happened. But, well, speakin' of Simon, we'd better get to the entrance - I told him to meet me there in fifteen minutes, but I think that was twenty minutes ago..."

Dom's eyes widened briefly. "Simon? He's here?"

"Of course. When I told him you'd flipped, he was the one who said we had to come after you."

He groaned, his shoulders slouching miserably. "Goddamnit - can the bastard not give me _one_ reason to legitimately dislike him? Or does he always have to be so goddamn..."

I smirked, nudging his arm. "Aw, try not to get _too_ jealous - he's really not _that_ bad a bloke. He's just, y'know... had a bit of bad luck lately..." 

_Simon:_

I gulped back a yelp of fear as the bastard hauled me back to my feet, but after another moment of pure shock, I senselessly dissolved into a fit of hysterical giggles, blubbering to myself, "This ain't real... This can't be happenin', it ain't... it ain't real..."

But as much as I tried to convince myself of this, I could still feel the urgency and strain in all my muscles as he began to drag my practically limp form away from the bar.

Without another word to me, he pushed and wove a way through the crowd to get to the back rooms, pulling me along as if towing an uncooperative child. All the while I gasped and stammered to myself that it was all a bad dream, just another silly delusion, even if I could virtually taste other people's sweat permeating the atmosphere, and feel my own trickling down my back and cheeks.

It wasn't until the bloke swept aside the curtain in a particular doorway and shoved me inside that I began to realise that it _wasn't_ a dream. I stumbled to the ground on my knees as the guy behind me barked to any occupants of the room to get out. I felt a few people shuffle by me as I struggled to get my bearings, pushing myself up against the wall and pulling myself up with my hands. I was shaky at best on my feet, though, especially when I noticed he'd picked the exact same bloody room as last time, and as I turned to find the doorway again, he was right there, grabbing me by the arms and pulling at my coat.

"No, no, wait," I mumbled weakly as he yanked my coat off my shoulders and down my arms. "I-I'm not here - I wasn't here for this–"

Instantly a fist responded to my first protest, and I smacked sideways into the wall before I could get out another word, too thrown off by the liquor in my system to see it coming.

"Doesn't matter _why_ you're here," he told me gruffly, reaching for my trousers. "You're _here_, that's all that matters to me–"

I tried to shove his hands away, fumbling uselessly with them as my strength left me when I dared to glance up into his determined eyes.

"But I - my friends–"

He wouldn't hear any complaints tonight, though - he meant business. Within seconds, he'd grabbed my shoulders and yanked me down harshly, slamming his knee into my side so fiercely that I actually heard the crack of my own ribs. In the same instant, my breath heaved out of me, a rush of wind that sucked the rest of my fight out along with it, and I crumbled to the ground with a pained grunt.

I slumped there for a few moments, unable to move or breathe, shaking uncontrollably as he paced around to my other side. Before I even got half a breath into my lungs, he'd gripped my shirt collar and was dragging me rapidly across the ground, until I felt my other side connect sharply with the edge of a piece of furniture - the couch, I recalled numbly, the couch he'd had me on before... 

_  
When these four dimensions become too concrete to my meager senses, there's a place inside that I can go to, a place that sprouted years ago, nursed by an angel whose heart was so vivid and warm that it could only stand to burn in that other world, where the monsters are, for a short time. Too short. And she made it grow here, made it come alive with enthusiasm and wonder. Here, in my own home, I could never find the courage to set the boundaries - and here, where other unnameable abilities within me can seize complete control of my physical perceptions, I willingly allowed it to spread. Here, anything at all can happen, beyond my own limited comprehension. Even my basic accesses are distorted in this realm, and sound can be smelled, thoughts can be tasted, sights are felt immeasurably by tingling fingertips. Here, I am king, I am leader, I say so and facts change accordingly. Yet my instincts are sharper than they've ever been, making the outside world a mere shadow of what remains important in my mind - borders crumble away, existence melts into a translucent puddle, and I can soar into an empty abyss of possibilities..._

A fist in my hair yanked my head up as he knelt in front of me, something else dangling from his free hand.

"No playin' around this time," he growled, and snapped the belt buckle-end first across my face, leaving a deep gash in my cheek in the process and tilting me unwillingly to the side. He pushed me over further, until I was lying on the floor, and I felt the heavy weight crushing my hip as he straddled me in his attempt to get me onto my belly. I managed to get enough air to shriek thoughtlessly in pain as I struggled to squirm out from under him, but he just rode my movements until he got me where he wanted me. My ribs screaming bloody murder as he held me down, I yelled wordlessly into the floor as he groped for my hands and twisted my arms behind my back. I couldn't even get up the strength to pull them away - the pain in my side was too much, and every time I opened my mouth, more blood spattered the ground below me from my busted lip.

__

...I've been driven here by the fierce violence of a man's fury, by the insatiable, by that which can never be reached in my more solid form. And in this heavy atmosphere, I can let myself drift into every attainable belief known to man. I can hover over the present, looking down upon a gruesome scene and being able to laugh like a child at the pointless nature of every action, of every reaction. I can understand the ridiculous notions of all petty attempts at grasping for purpose, yet its effect is deflected by the numbness seething internally...

When I couldn't move my arms anymore, he lifted himself from me - but only to roll me uselessly over onto my back. My arms were trapped, painfully so, bearing my weight on top of them in addition to the strain on my injured ribs - I could barely breathe. So when he reached down to undo my trousers, I could only yell shrilly and pointlessly at him to stop as he hitched them down over my hips with less trouble than I'd had pulling them on. I tried to lift my feet off the floor, to kick out at him in a spurt of panic, but he had no trouble at all catching my leg before I could connect - and he used it to his advantage instead, yanking off my boots and trousers all in one go. And still he had control of my legs, with his larger hands grasping my knees to spread me open helplessly. I rolled and lolled on the ground, but the movement only brought more pain from my ribs, draining the air from my lungs once again to render my attempt at a scream a gargled, pitiful whimper instead.

He leaned over me then, taking my face in a hand to force me to look up at his grinning mug. His fingers slipped down to my throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off any air I could get, reminding me of the last time...

"Scream all you like tonight, bitch," he hissed at me over the raucous sound of electronic music and loud voices just outside the barely covered doorway. "No one can hear you anyway." And he released my throat with a smug smile.

And for the first time since this nightmare began unfolding before my very eyes, realisation took hold of my weary brain - and I felt tears burning my eyes.

"No," I begged pathetically as he knelt back to unzip his jeans. "Please - please don't - don't do this–"

But he ignored me, and just as I was about to try and scream another terrible plea, a different scream ripped out of me instead without even having to try.

__

...The thrumming guidance of my imagination personified leads me to a cavern hidden away from these four walls, where laws of physics and metaphysics collide and pause for a spot of tea to discuss the weather. All of these ideas and ideals I hold in different spaces in my mind, here is where they all converge and discuss, pontificate and - hopefully - eventually arrive at some kind of conclusion. But tonight they are arguing, and the equations don't add up, and they're loud and obnoxious and relying too heavily on science and fact. One end doesn't always have to meet the other. Sometimes the frayed edges can never be mended. But they don't want to listen to me - whoever I am - and ignore my vain screams. And then my ego stands up and proclaims haughtily that it controls the rain, and suddenly it's just a pissing match between unseen entities, trying to decide who has the most control. Consciousness joins the circle and brags that it can vanish at will, but is unable to perform when the others challenge it to prove its worth...

It was worse than the aching pain in my side - worse than the last time, even - as he forced his way into me, aiding his thrusts with a fierce grip on my hips. My insides felt like they were being torn to shreds as he smashed his cock into me again and again, groaning loudly with a demented pleasure as he did it. I kicked and fought deliriously to push him out, scrambled to twist away somehow no matter how bad the pain was - but my efforts only backfired when I slipped or lost my footing, slamming me back into him with more force than I could bear.

"Oh yeah, take it, you filthy slut," he cursed at me, a look of fury in his eyes as he plowed into me relentlessly. "You like it, you know you do, you whore, you love havin' that meat up inside you–"

I tried desperately to block him out, squeezing my eyes closed and grimacing with the effort, my teeth grinding, cutting into my tongue - couldn't breathe, all I could get were audibly wheezing gasps with every merciless stroke he gave me, and a pitiful screech of agony with every exhalation. It was worse than any torture I could think of, and my once creative mind was too paralysed with fear to find a chance to cover this nightmare with some randomly concocted story to ease the suffering. I thought it would never end, only grow worse and worse with every new degrading name he spat at me, every thrust bringing him down closer to my blood-smeared face, folding me in half until I was sobbing for some kind of relief. His hands left my hips, tangling instead in my hair, and with every few thrusts now, he slammed my head down, smacking it against the ground to blur and disorient my vision further. I kept my eyes closed instead, the throbbing making my brain feel like it was melting.

__

...And all of these shriveled forms are oblivious to the small boy with the round eyes watching their gestures and hearing their boasts with keen attention. I barely recognise him myself, but I know I've seen him before, haunting my every waking moment, just waiting for me to fall to my knees, every day, and admit the truth: that I haven't been king here for years. Even my delusions are falling for delusions. And every flaw these beastly entities expose, he sneakily snatches before they realise it's gone, stowing each one away for safe keeping, his own precious treasure chest of negativity that will one day be opened to swallow all of them in one gasping, desperate gulp...

I was almost thankful when he started choking me again - forcing me to concentrate on something other than the ripping pain below, which I could now _hear_, his skin slapping against mine with sweat and some other warm, slick fluid - but I knew it wasn't lube, and there was too much to be semen... I knew what it was, and my stomach only felt worse for knowing.

I was _praying_ for my brain to shut down, to black out by then, tears streaming down the sides of my face and my entire body throbbing with a pain I had never known before. My mouth moved silently as I begged for it to end, no sound coming out of my bruised throat...

__

...He travels these lonesome paths in my brain with the illusion of curiosity walking just beside him. They converse and converge consistently, at times merging into one so completely that one would be hard-pressed to tell them apart. But always they remember their purpose - the absolute lack_ of purpose behind every movement, the tight-rope act being played out upon a knife edge, dangling just above the sea of innocence - don't swing your feet too closely or the weedy tendrils will snake up your legs to drag you under, into that well of ignorance..._

And then there was a sickening crunch above me, and the bloke yanked out of me so fast that I was shocked to hear my own scream filling the room - blending with his own.

The weight on top of me stumbled sideways, then disappeared completely as another several poundings met my ears with his own high-pitched shrieks of pain.

__

...I can't keep coming back to this place, this dream of clouds and feathers and melting wax, meshed together to trudge up some unfathomable geyser of night terrors that caused this gaping rift to yawn before my invisible eyes - I can't keep holding onto these lies of infinite peace, reality is too strong now, fighting its way into my cracked head to seep into every crevice, every weakness, caving my will from the inside-out...

I tried to turn over, to roll onto my good side and curl my legs up - but I could still barely move, and the ache in my chest made my gasps sound as tortured as I felt. The yells from my other side gradually lessened, until they died out completely - then I was left with only a familiar dry voice in the room.

"Disgusting piece of shit," it muttered scathingly. "Lucky I don't shove it up your ass." There was a slight shuffle, then another voice - one I knew well, but sounded utterly horrified.

"Holy shit - what the hell–"

"Get his hands untied. C'mon, help me out. But be _careful_."

I felt hands on me then - and my immediate flinch and twitch away from them came from somewhere completely subconscious, along with my broken wail.

"Hey, calm down, kid, it's just me."

__

...I delve deeper for any sign of recovering my other self, the one who plunges onward into the mysterious depths of this cruelly veiled shelter from reality, but I only find remnants of soft touches and whispered promises mingled with tears of rapture and cold, cold solitude, and pleas of a wounded child; but all my words of insistence to be better, to do good and try harder, couldn't morph into a physical chain to wind around her hands, to keep her arms from falling from me. My fingers left stroking empty air, groping for a rescuing hand to catch me before being devoured by this world I could no longer control...

I couldn't bear to open my eyes, but with a bit more persuasion, I let the comforting hands ease me up so another pair could untie the belt around my wrists. When my arms fell free of the trap, I cried out again, my head falling back helplessly as two pairs of arms caught me before I could hit the ground.

"Simon," came the controlled voice again, audible even through my own bleating. "We're gonna get you help, okay? Just tell me where it hurts."

"Ev-very-where," I moaned, feeling like a million jolts of pure energy were being sent to every raw nerve in my body.

"That's not very helpful, Si," he told me wryly. "Where does it hurt the _most_?"

I couldn't even get my mouth to form words anymore, just whimpered pitifully as I wished for the darkness behind my eyelids to swallow me up. I felt a slight breeze over my legs, then warmth as a heavy material covered my lower half.

"Simon? Si - Chris! Get those fucking idiots out of here! Oi! Y'couldn't give a fuck when the kid's screamin' his head off, now ya wanna peek at the gore!? Give yourself a purpose and use one of those fucking cell phones to call a fucking ambulance!"

I slowly felt my breath coming back to me, and I finally let my eyelids flutter open, barely able to make out the unusually fearful face above me. I worked my jaw around a bit, feeling blood trickle down my neck, and tried to speak.

"Hey, kid," he whispered sullenly. "Nevermind, don't try to talk–"

But I had to - if only to prove to myself that I was still there. My head was pounding too much to try and come up with anything clever, even though it wouldn't grant me my wish to just pass out already, so the words just came slurring out of my feeble lips.

"I'm sorry, Doc... Sorry for all the trouble... Guess I really fucked up this time, eh?"

His knitted brow hunched closer to me, his eyes hard and hot as they glared into mine. "Don't you dare, Si - don't even _think_ of taking the blame on this."

I felt my lungs seize up then, a choked gasp making my attempt at a smile morph into a gruesome wince, and then my eyes rolled back in my head, and I finally got my wish.


	20. Chapter 20

Title: Lesson Twenty: How to Sleep Like The Dead  
Rating/Warnings: R for language, slashy references, angst, fluff...pre-revision.  
Feedback: is welcome!  
Disclaimer: This is fiction, ain't related to the real people in any way, shape or form.

A/N: Through almost this whole thing, I had a certain Biffy Clyro song going through my head - or actually playing. Beautiful song called "Being Gabriel."  The lyrics are at the end of the section.

Dom:

The back rooms of the club were primarily – of course – used for purely carnal purposes; once in a while, I supposed, they were of use to couples in arguments, or other sordid reasons for meeting covertly – the odd paranoid druggie who didn't feel safe enough merely in the confines of the club itself. But basically, it was a less populated area of the joint on a typical night – vaguely more for a Friday.

But when Matt and I slipped out of our little hole in the wall to go meet his new beau at the front doors, we were both rather surprised to see a crowd of people huddling together towards the back of the dim rooms. I knew something bad must have happened – maybe a drug raid or a wanted criminal being found – when I saw two bouncers bearing the club logo on black shirts heading back there as well.

"Oh dear," Matt murmured, craning his neck to peek over my shoulder. "What's happened?"

I shrugged, fully ready to drag my out my more curious friend if he seemed about to go crawling away to find out for himself, but then a voice echoed out of a particular room – one that was frighteningly familiar.

"Chris! Get those fucking idiots out of here! Oi!..."

To my astonishment, when I whipped my head back around to look, I recognised the curly head of our friend looming over most of the other onlookers, as Chris urged them all back out of the room. The bouncers pushed their way through anyway, but Chris acted as a solid barrier between gawking clubgoers and the room behind him.

Matt and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, and before I could utter a word, he had ripped away from me, as if suddeny knowing something bad _had_ happened – something he himself wouldn't like seeing. The doctor's sudden cry of, "Oh, shit!" was all I needed to hear to realise Matt's instinct was right.

"Dr. House?" Matt called, shoving his way through the crowd ferociously until he made it to Chris. With barely a glance at our mate, he stopped dead cold and stared, landing me smack into his back as we took in the scene.

With one man apparently down and out in the corner, blood streaming down what looked to be a definitely broken nose, and the bouncers who were tending to him, the room was otherwise empty – except for where the doctor was hunched uncomfortably over a sporadically twitching, shaking form. As he struggled to press his cane into Simon's mouth, the unconscious boy flailed and jerked beneath him violently, blood spatter hitting the floor randomly from a gash in his cheek.

"What the hell..." Matt gasped, and within seconds, he was by the doctor's side, demanding furiously to know what was going on.

"Ain't it obvious?" Dr. House muttered as he tried to keep from getting hit by a wayward arm. "He's having a seizure."

"Why!?" Matt shrieked, his hands frozen in mid-air, as if trying to decide which limb to grasp. "How!?"

"Well, it might be a shot in the dark," the doctor snapped irritably, "and there could be lots of reasons, but I'd say having his head bashed in is the most likely suspect... No, don't!" he shouted suddenly when Matt tried to restrain the crazily jutting arms.

Matt backed off quickly, a stunned expression on his already stricken face.

"Don't hold him down," the doctor instructed, more calmly. "Might do more harm than good. Just trying to keep him from biting his tongue," he explained with a nod toward his cane.

It felt like an eternity, as Chris shouted in an uncharacteristically authoritative voice to the crowd to get back, and the bouncers dealt with the alleged attacker slumped in the corner while Dr. House told them briefly – and crudely – what had happened, at the same time trying to keep Simon in a relatively safe location on the floor. The doctor practically snarled at the bouncers to get their boss down there so he could see what sort of twisted shit he'd allowed into his club, but by the time the guy made it, I was too distracted – by the sight of Matt, crouched over Simon's quivering body, crying silently as he tried to keep the boy's head still without causing anymore damage.

It was in that suspended moment, seeing how unafraid he was to be so openly affectionate with someone who couldn't even hear him, that I knew my place. Not when he'd told me straight out, and not when he'd hugged me in our own semi-private room – not even walking in on the two of them together had answered that dilemma. It was only then, when Matt couldn't see or hear or think of anyone else but the man in his arms, that I knew he'd been telling me the truth: he loved him, simple as that, and nothing – at least nothing tangible – was going to be able to stop that.

Something _in_tangible, however, still had an opportunity to at least put a damper on it; when the shaking subsided and finally ceased, Simon's head fell limply to the side, eyes closed as if merely sleeping. But as the doctor then tried to readjust the coat over his bare waist, Matt, still leaning over our mate, suddenly waved at him, mumbling as if in a daze.

"Doc, I think... I don't think he... He stopped breathing," he gasped sharply, his voice trembling fearfully.

At this, the doctor suddenly knelt up straight on his knees, a cautious look in his eyes.

"What do you mean, stopped br--"

"He's not breathing!" Matt nearly screeched, his fingers splayed over Simon's bloodied cheeks thoughtlessly. "He's not fucking _breathing_, how much clearer can I--"

Before Matt got too hysterical, I finally jerked to life again, grabbing him under the shoulders and pulling him away just as Dr. House waved at him to get out of the way. I hauled my friend up to his feet, but it felt like _he_ was the one who'd given up, a dead weight in my arms as the doctor leaned over to breathe into Simon's mouth.

After a few tense moments and a couple rounds of CPR, Simon coughed noisily, more blood speckling the doctor's cheek from the kid's mouth. But after that, he only fell limp again, though his wheezing, laboured breaths were audible throughout the room and over the noise outside.

"Shit," Dr. House spat out viciously. "Fuck the ambulance – _Chris!_"

His partner-in-stopping-crime was immediately by his side, awaiting instructions.

"Can you carry him?"

Chris hesitated, glancing over Simon quickly. "Erm... He's kind of... um..."

"What?" Dr. House demanded sharply. "Yeah, he's no Matt, but you _are_ bigger than him – so yes or no, can you?"

Chris gestured vaguely to the doctor's coat. "He's a bit... well... _naked_ under there, isn't he?"

The doctor glared up at Chris – but only for a moment, before rolling his eyes and sneering, "Get over it, you big pansy. Now come on, get him up – but be _careful_, damnit, or I'll have your ass in detention for the rest of your pathetic life!"

_Simon__:_  
_  
__And then they were there, the hands of a saviour. A gentle caress from loving flesh, smooth but solid, unmistakably real. Fawning over my weary form, cooing words of tearful hope to bring me back from that pit of nothingness. Moist blue eyes peered back into mine, and with a rush of pure spring air, I felt a genuine longing to whisper to him, to assure him that this wasn't an empty vessel he tried to look into. The aching I held in my chest turned into an actual sensation, a throbbing throughout my entire body, and never before had pain felt so sweet.__  
__A sort of wordless grumble trickled from my lips as I tried to say his name, relieved to see a grateful smile-turned-grimace break over his face as he stroked my hair and repeated those words he knew I needed to hear, "I'm here, Simon. I'm right here."_

Matt:

I couldn't even hear the constant steady, slow tapping of Dr. House's cane on the linoleum of the waiting room floor as all four of us sat around silently, each thinking our own separate thoughts to only ourselves. I stared at the ground, my entire body feeling tense and rigid as my fingers unconsciously dug into the arms of the chair I'd slumped into upon first arriving. It had been almost a five full minutes since our instructor had come back from Simon's room in the A&E ward, wearing that frighteningly stoic, sullen expression, and I dreaded saying a word, even to ask what the doctor had informed him of. I almost didn't want to know, after Simon's episode back in the club, and another time in the car on the way over, when he'd stopped breathing – which had scared me more than I could have known.

Not even the sight of Dr. House having to give him mouth-to-mouth had been comically sickening enough for me to not treat this as seriously as it seemed. In fact, that it had come to that at all to get him breathing on his own again proved just how serious it _was_.

Finally, though, after letting out a long, weary breath, the doctor's low drone reached my ears – and instead of the usual bored, dull tone, he actually sounded extremely worried, which only heightened my own fears.

"Multiple gashes and contusions from the beating; sprained wrists from being restrained; obviously the damage from the rape; two broken ribs, one of which punctured and collapsed a lung during the seizure, which was brought about by the trauma to his head. Which is actually the _most_ dangerous injury he has – they're monitoring him closely to make sure there isn't too much swelling in the brain, but for right now, all we can do is wait."

I snapped my head over to give him a wary stare. "Wait?"

"Mm-hm. Wait for him to wake up. Hope that there's no permanent brain damage. They fixed up his other injuries with no problem. But the rest is up to him, really..."

I leaned forward on my knees, holding my head in my hands, too mixed up in my _own_ mind to be able to grasp the tedious situation.

"His father and brother are on their way down from Glasgow," Dr. House went on over the sudden queasiness in my belly. "I'd told the dean before Chris and I left that we'd found him, so he probably called Mr. Neil right away. I've been in touch with the dean to keep him updated, in between talking to the police the club owner sent over to take statements. They'll want to talk to you, too, Chris."

Chris nodded solemnly out of the corner of my eye, a cold expression on his rarely seriously face – not even he could mask his disdain over what he'd witnessed with his usual laid-back, friendly smile.

"No doubt," the doctor went on, "the dean's been updating his father, too. He'll tell them to come straight to the hospital, of course."

He raised his eyes, lifting his head at the same time to gesture in front of us. We all looked up to see the familiar uniform of a policeman heading in our direction.

"In the meantime," Dr. House mumbled, "Chris, why don't you go talk to the nice intimidating gentleman coming this way, then take these two back to the dorms. If the dean needs to speak to you, he'll get ahold of you there--"

Dom and Chris were both nodding along with our instructor's orders, but I found myself sitting up straighter suddenly. "Hang on, hang on," I interrupted, giving him an incredulous glare. "Can't I even go see him?"

House sighed again, seeming drained. "Mr. Bellamy, he's not even conscious--"

But I'd already made my decision; instantly, I was on my feet, watching the doctor expectantly. "I know I'm not family or anythin', but I do think I have a right to see him. They let you in, after all..."

House dragged his arse out of the chair to loom over me, but I wouldn't let his size make me shrink in trepidation. Instead, I set my shoulders and jaw firmly and repeated, "I want to see him. Take me to see him, _now._"

The doctor looked and acted exasperated - but he didn't outright refuse me either, I noticed.

"I should tell you, Matt," he warned, the use of my first name showing how serious he was, "he doesn't look very good right now--"

"I don't care what he looks like!" I spat out angrily, offended that he would try to use that excuse on me. "We all saw what the bastard did to him, I think I know he's not gonna look like he just stepped out of a bloody fashion rag!"

The doctor tried a different tactic, then: "His own father isn't even here yet--"

"All the more reason to have someone he knows by his side if he does wake up before the guy gets here, don't you think? Besides," I added, unable to disguise the guilt-ridden passion trembling through my voice, "you heard what I said to him - I _promised_ him I'd be there for him. If he wakes up and I'm not there, it'd be like... like..." I choked back a sob, tears welling in my eyes - along with the plainly obvious despair on my face. "It'd be like I wasn't there for him before any of this happened... If we'd just stayed together--"

"Matt," Dom cut in, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You couldn't have known something like this would happen, mate - don't blame yourself--"

But I threw him off, my aggravation clearer than my guilt now, and nearly shouted, "I already let him down once, goddamnit, I won't let anyone else make me do it a second time!"

Dom kept quiet after that - apparently picking up on the subtle accusation - and only huddled back away from me as I pleaded with Dr. House.

"I don't care what he looks like, I don't care if he's awake or not - just let me be _with_ him, please?"

And something in my eyes - desperation, genuine urgency, a heart-seizing _need_ to have this - must have gotten to him, because after some deliberation, he finally uttered to Chris, "Talk to the cop and then get Dom and yourself back to the dorms. Take the car, but give the keys to someone in the office. I'll call Jim to come get us later."

Chris nodded his understanding - and without another glance toward me, Dom pulled himself out of his chair and followed the bigger boy down the corridor toward the cop, head hanging low the whole time.

I knew it wasn't Dom's fault; he was right - none of us could have seen this coming. Still, if he was going to try and dissuade me from staying by Simon's side, I would have had him angry at me - or maybe even blaming himself - for a little while, rather than prying me away from where I wanted to be.

As the boys went off in one direction, the doctor hobbled along on his cane as he led me in another one, mumbling quietly to me the whole way to the room.

"I'm sure the staff won't care if you go in and see him," he told me, his voice low and attention forward. "But I'm guessing you'd figure I wouldn't care about hospital protocol anyway. You know as well as I do that we're probably more like family to him than his own father - but you didn't hear that from me. Christ, the kid hunted you down specifically when he didn't know where to turn back in Glasgow."

I was sure my nod went unnoticed, but trying to keep up with the bastard was harder than I thought it would have been, him stuck with his cane and all. Nodding was all I could do, unable to get a word in edgewise as he led me to Simon's room.

"That's saying something. If he still thought of you - not Ben or James, not me or anyone else, but _you_ - in a moment when he was otherwise clearly out of his mind, that means you're something special to him. The only reason I hesitate, really, has nothing to do with policy or rules - I just wanted to be sure you'd be able to handle it. It's a huge responsibility to take on for anyone, but for someone in his condition, under these circumstances, you'd be deserving a fuckin' award if you can manage to pull it off."

He suddenly stopped, turning to me abruptly, nearly causing a collision with his sharp about-face. And when I stopped too, coming face-to-face with him, actually out of breath, I realised that Dr. House was giving me an intense, steady stare. All I could do was watch him back, puzzled, and wait.

"So can you?"

I blinked at him, swallowing hard. "Can I what?"

"Can you handle this?"

I continued to stare, catching my breath, as his previous words gradually sank in.

"I need to know, Matt," Dr. House hissed at me, his hand on a door beside him as he peered at me - and I finally detected a shimmer of hope in his desperate eyes.

For some unexplained reason, the cold, careless instructor I'd known before was asking me this strange question, and so earnestly - as if it were his own son lying in the bed beyond that door.

"I need to know," he went on, his voice even lower, "if you really love him. Enough to handle all the shit he's gonna go through now. Not just as a lover - if what Chris hinted at before is true; but it's not just that - in fact, if something as intimate and physical as sex didn't scare him shitless right now, I'd think something _worse_ was wrong with him, before any of this ever happened.

"But that's now what I'm after - it's not what he needs. He's gonna need a friend - a real, true friend, and not just some old doctor who's technically an authority figure to him, which already puts me at a disadvantage trust-wise with him. I'm talking about an equal - someone who's on his level, who wno't try to play a role or attempt some kind of dominant or submissive position with him - again, I'm not talking sex here. I'm talking safety. When he comes out of this, if he's able to comprehend what happened... he's gonna need to be in a place in his head where he feels _safe_. _Can you_ give him that? Do you have the strength to help him?"

The more he spoke, the wider the doctor's eyes got, until he actually started sounding like he was... _pleading_ with me. It was certainly not a tone I'd ever heard from him before - had never expected to hear, either. The fact that I was hearing it just made it seem all the more awkward.

Yet even this new side to House was not enough to distract me from the true purpose. And the more I considered his loaded question, the more I began to long for that ridiculous, care-free spirit I'd become so close to that year.

It was then that I realised, sadly, that I would probably never get to see Simon that happy again; perhaps, by some miracle, he could come close to it one day. But now, after all that had happened - his losses and being violated in such a manner - it was impossible for me to imagine him ever recovering to that point of innocence again.

I could only hope that his own words were true - that I simply lacked imagination.

Still, if there was any chance of gaining back even a shred of who he'd been before...

I held the doctor's gaze steadily and nodded. "I will," I promised him. "I have to. I..." It felt surreal to say it to a teacher, but the words came out rather easily as I gave it a shot: "I love him."

After a long moment (wherein I was sure the old House would shine through and take the piss outta me for being so bloody sentimental), the doctor's stare softened, and he only nodded, opening the door to let me inside.

Just his lack of a joke told that he was not taking any of this lightly - apparently, like me, when it came to Simon being in danger, that aloof air evaporated.

I had seen Simon just after being attacked, and I'd seen how battered and hurt he'd been. Still, even after being bandaged and cleaned up, it was hard to look at him lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to various monitors and machines. The air left me when I saw how utterly small he seemed, and my chest tightened at the dark bruises forming under his closed eyes. The beeping of the heart monitor became a faint background noise, and as I approached the bed, I had to stop myself from grabbing the limp hand by his side - the bandage around his wrist reminding me that my good intention would probably have only done more harm.

So there I was, standing beside his hospital bed, watching him sleep whilst a bloody machine helped h im breathe - and I couldn't even touch him.

I clenched my fists around the bar beside his arm, trying to remember to breathe myself. I didn't hear when Dr. House closed the door behind him, cutting the three of us off from the rest of the world - leaving both of us wondering where in his own head Simon was now.

I swallowed once, then tentatively reached down to brush my fingers over a bare part of his arm, hoping - _wishing_ - for some kind of a sign that he was still in there. Simon just wasn't quite Simon if he wasn't telling me about his newest crazy idea of how the Earth was formed, or what other historical figures were secretly Scottish - fuck's sake, I even craved for him to rave about how awesome his bloody fucking catapult was going to be...

"It's not the first time."

I snapped my head up, tears falling from my eyes before I even knew they were there, as I gawked at the doctor.

House couldn't take his own eyes off the sleeping face either - or else, he simply couldn't look at _me_.

"The same guy," he went on sullenly. "Last month. Apparently it wasn't as bad that time - but I guess... he was rougher on him tonight. And Simon... well, he knew what was coming this time. Obviously, it scared him."

"Last month..." I trailed off, the image flashing through my mind of Simon's wide, stricken eyes as he shoved my hands away when I'd jokingly tried to choke him.

I groaned and slumped forward, catching my head in my hands as I realised...

"Aw, fuck, why didn't I see it?" I hissed, squeezing my eyes shut tightly.

Shakily, I recounted the events of that evening, telling Dr. House everything - from the silly phone call to Simon claiming not being able to remember what had happened. Likewise, he filled me in on Simon's time at home, the gradual loss of his grasp on reality, having that vivid flashback in his house, trying to kill himself... all the way up until he'd sought me out at the castle only a few days before. And with every word, I wanted to bash my _own_ head into the ground for revenge - it'd been so obvious, now that I could step back and look at it. But I'd just been so happy that he'd been back, I'd been willing to be blind to it all: Simon's strange behaviour, wanting to stay unnoticed, not even wanting to see his childhood mates. Never wanting to be seen, only wanting to meet me at the castle, before disappearing from the campus. Coming back late, when no one else would have been up.

Then even tiny things began to surface in my mind, and I wondered why I hadn't questioned them earlier: how could he have had the time to make such bloody intricate plans for that stupid catapult if he'd been doing make-up work all day? And why had nothing in our room signaled to me that he'd been back? He'd brought nothing with him, that was why - and those trousers, those bloody velvet trousers I never would have thought him to wear - I started to wonder if they were even _his_. Who knew how he'd gotten back to school? And that money he'd used to buy all those drinks - where had that come from? And even when he woke up, would he be able to remember?

He'd been so relieved to be with me, apparently - though even that wasn't enough to calm his nerves. Constantly checking over his shoulder, the way he ducked away from the road when we walked along - even just how jittery he'd been, which I'd dismissed as being cold, or giddy... Now, that inexplicable twitchiness was recognisable to me as pent-up anxiety, paranoia - hell, I'd been so desperate to have him back, I'd willingly ignored the fact that he was not himself just so I could keep believing the lie that he was all right.

Of course he wasn't all right. He hadn't been for a long time. Recalling the Simon from the beginning of the year, he'd had his moments and certain things triggered excitement, sure - but that constant tension, that rigid nature - that wasn't him at all. The only time he'd shown a glimpse of his true self that week had been... Thursday night... after we'd been together...

He'd been content. He'd felt safe again. Like things were almost back to normal. No wonder he'd been able to sleep all day.

But that brief moment of serenity had been broken - and then he'd turned back to the fidgety, uncomfortable stranger when we'd gone out looking for Dom.

I'd been so intent on finding Dom, I hadn't thought much of Simon's hesitance to go into that particular club. The way he'd just suddenly shut down, I'd chalked it up to him being tired, or irritated, or... something. Certainly not _fear_.

And here I claimed to love him - when I didn't even know when he was _scared?_

Some friend I was...

I couldn't remember my teacher pulling up a chair for me, but suddenly he was by my side, lookign down at me as I slouched miserably in a seat, nearly hyperventilating with how panicked and upset I'd gotten. As I babbled on about how stupid and blind I'd been, the doctor leaned over me, assuring me that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have known - that blaming myself was as ridiculous as Simon taking the blame for being raped, or having a nervous breakdown.

Whatever words he gave me after that, I couldn't recall - I simply concentrated on pulling myself against the bed, and, as carefully as I could, I laid my head on Simon's arm and just cried. The doc must have realised how useless his attempts at comfort were, because eventually his assurances abated - and with a firm pat on the back, he left the room, leaving me alone to apologise, over and over again, as Simon kept on sleeping.

_Being Gabriel___

_The clouds disperse, there's a rainbow__  
__With big eyes looking so pure__  
__That say everything about everything__  
__Been given the chance to grow old__  
__No one will be more loved than him__  
__'Cause he's caught by the safest of hands__  
__If he cries tears will be wiped away__  
__By the ones who created this man__  
__Asleep in a tender world__  
__Waiting for...__  
__He sleeps in a perfect world__  
__Waiting for...__  
__I wish I was as good as you__  
__(lyrics by Simon Neil)_


	21. Chapter 21

Title: Lesson 21 – How To Build A Bridge

Rating/Warnings: language, non-graphic slashy hints, psychological babble, etc.

Feedback: is welcome!

Disclaimer: This is fiction, characters ain't real. If only I got paid for this.... but I'll be happy with some feedback as payment!

Simon:

_We're on a beach, somewhere... somewhere warm. And it's night, but somehow I can still see every last eyelash, every dark hair on your head. You're kneeling in the sand in front of me, running your hands through it as you speak, and I feel like I've just arrived, though you're speaking to me as if I've been here all along. I look past your shoulder at the crashing waves, recalling a time not long ago when I imagined the warmth of the water to be my mother's embrace._

"_Don't you think?"_

_I catch your blue eyes with my own, a mirror reflection of what I've been given – but yours hold a plea in them._

"_Think what?" I whisper, my throat feeling like I've swallowed half the beach we're sitting on._

"_You can't stay here," you repeat, a soft smile on your face, averting your gaze as you say what you've been telling me all long, but I don't want to hear._

_I study your smaller form, wondering how – because I can't remember – you got me back to the shore on your own._

"_I want to," I assert, for perhaps the fiftieth time._

_Still, it's like the first._

"_But you can't," you reiterate. "There's nothing here for you. It's all broken apart here. There's nothing to salvage..."_

"_There's you," I argue, taking your fingers with my own._

_You give me an awkward stare. Frozen in time, a question on your lips._

"_This isn't right," you tell me. "This isn't what it seems. I'm not who you think I am. You're mistaking your mind for reality again."_

_I grasp your hand firmly. I can feel flesh between my palms – warm, soft, soothing. "This is real to me – we're safe here--"_

"_But it isn't." You slip your hand through both of mine – not pulling away, but actually __**through**__ them, like a mirage, a ghost. You hold it up to show my wide eyes. "This is as much your hand as you think it is mine."_

_I think back desperately, trying to recall the exact moment when you pulled me from the waves..._

"_You saved me," I insist breathlessly, even though the image in what I think is my mind in this delusion is not substantial._

_You shake your head sadly. "I didn't. You want to believe I did. Only my spirit. In this place, only you can do the rest. And you can only do so much here. Which is why you have to go..."_

"_But if I leave here..." I look around at the fading scenery, only able to hold onto your gaze as my centerpoint._

"_Trust me – reality can be rewarding too," you assure me, and then even your solid gaze evaporates from my sight._

It was like walking through a dark tunnel with a light at the very end. Sounds echoed around me, life was teeming and active outside of my immobile, encapsulated shell, and each step forward felt like dragging my feet through a bog. But I kept going, needing to reach that light – if only to shut it the hell off. Because it was shining directly into my eyes.

I must have been stirring for a while, but it took me a long time to actually come around. And when I finally did, a heavy grogginess was draped over my mind, even as I reflexively reached up to try and swipe at mystery hands that were prying my eyes open. My own soft murmuring reached my ears, sounding slurred and broken – something about sand on my skin. But the words came out malformed, as if something were blocking my mouth from shaping them properly.

"Simon," came a familiar voice from behind the light, which was flickering into my sight repeatedly, first the right, then the left side. "Nod if you can hear me."

I tried to tell the nagging doctor to let me get my sleep – but just the acknowledgment of who it was brought me further away from that comfort, and my eyes blinked rapidly on their own.

"Stop trying to talk – you've got a tube down your throat, it's useless."

I dropped my hand to my chest, thankful that he'd stopped flashing that irritating light at me. But coming around to consciousness somehow made the darkness behind my closed lids seem lonelier, so I forced my eyes open again to see the whisker-covered, haggard face leaning in on me, watching me intensely as a long breath fluttered from his slack mouth.

I tried to swallow, but couldn't; tried to tell him to back off, his breath was terrible, but my voice only cracked as it came out as a sort of pathetic groan.

Slowly, the hunched man looming over me cracked a hint of a smile, then tried to cover that slip with a command: "I know it hurts, but I need you to cough for me."

I didn't know or care why he was telling me this, but I obeyed all the same – and the proceeding torture that came with it was enough to help me force the tube he was pulling further out of my throat. Seconds later, he was clearing the unnecessary accessory away from me as I gagged and coughed, wincing from the sharp, stabbing pain in my side. It somehow managed to overwhelm the ache in my head, which I hadn't noticed until the tube was free from my throat. I felt myself collapse back onto the bed, into an array of fluffy, comfortable pillows – which actually didn't do much to alleviate the constant pains in my head and side – and tried to gasp on my own. But even that attempt was cut short by the severe ache that snuck up on me. I groped for the source, but House quickly stopped me, pulling my arm back firmly.

"Don't try to move," he warned, his voice urgent. "Don't want to tear the stitches."

I squinted my eyes closed, holding my breath through a wave of discomfort. I hummed aloud, a weak moan of displeasure over being awakened to such an unwelcoming sensation.

"W-What's wrong?" I asked blindly, panic rising when I realised how restricted I actually felt in my own body. "What's wrong with me--"

"Calm down," he assured me softly, his hand on my forehead. A few beeps of a machine broke through my ragged breathing, and a burning, prickling tension shot through my arm.

I gasped again, only causing another excruciating ripple to course through my torso. And then, suddenly, a wave of numbness and warmth flooded my system, slowing my breathing and relaxing every rigid muscle in my body.

I let my eyelids droop again, staring blankly out over the pale blue bedsheet over my legs, and found myself concentrating on the beating of my heart as I counted my own slow, rhythmic breaths. Soon, the pain died away, and I became dimly aware of the fact that I was lying in a bed – a hospital bed.

So it hadn't all been just another warped, vivid dream. Just one more piece of evidence to add to my collection of proof that I was losing my grip on the real world. I'd had a hunch a while before, but it didn't really bother me... Personally, it didn't bother me at all even then, when I could have interchanged actual memories with imagined ones – but I supposed that was where the problem laid...

"Better?"

I'd become so content after that disturbing blast of agony that I'd forgotten about the figure still hovering beside the bed. I made an affirmative noise seep out of my dry throat and dragged my bleary gaze over to look up at House's wary eyes. He was holding a small dark object in one hand, his finger on a gray round button, tubes leading from either end – one connected to an IV bag dangling beside a few other monitors, the other lead connected directly into my arm.

"Morphine drip," he told me, as if I were awake enough to comprehend this. "They knew you'd be in pain once you woke up."

I swallowed thickly, croaking out, "Pain... Stitches... from..."

"Surgery," he explained. "To repair your lung. Broken rib punctured it."

I heaved a sigh and nodded, taking this in as if we were talking about someone else. I certainly was not in a position – physically or mentally – to grasp that _I_ was the one who'd gotten this damaged somehow. And the longer I stayed awake to contemplate it – each and every ticking second that passed by – the more my brain told me to stop trying to remember...

"Are you comfortable?"

Comfortable. An easy question to start with – I was in a relatively firm, stable bed, covered to my chest by a thin but warm blanket, and the pillows gradually began to feel like soft, inviting clouds cradling my sore body. The stabbing ache in my side was ebbing to a dull throb, and my head felt light and airy as I let it sink into the white cotton around me.

"Aye," I whispered. "Fine enough..."

But the strength of powerful drugs still couldn't keep my sluggish mind from grinding into gear, and I closed my eyes as my awareness – however subdued – slowly came into focus. Struggling to keep the actual memories at bay, I flinched as I coerced my voice into creaking out of my sore throat again; it came out as a crackling, breathless rasp, catching to make me sound like a prepubescent boy, but it came out all the same.

"How bad am I?"

There was a scrape of metal legs on a linoleum floor as the doctor pulled a chair closer to the bed, and frankly, I was relieved to have him so close by.

"You'll recover," he answered at length, sounding as morose as ever. "Physically, at least. It'll take some time, but as long as you don't try to go inciting any mock battles in the next few days, you'll get there."

I managed a dry smirk at that, but the strain on my side wouldn't allow me the chuckle I wanted to let out. "Don't think there's any danger of that. For a while, anyway."

"Then the boys on the other team may live to see a new schoolyear without the threat of that blasted catapult coming to fruition."

Oh drat – yet another reason for me to mourn being laid up.

A slight movement by my arm, opposite from where House perched, drew my attention. I fluttered my eyes open again, a twitch in my neck helping to tilt my head down slightly to catch sight of a tuft of messy black hair sticking up by my waist. I lifted my arm a bit, and in doing so, I revealed the slumbering face nuzzled closely beside me, halfway hidden by the bedsheets.

Startling as it was to realise the doctor wasn't the only guest by my bedside, my fuzzy perception was momentarily distracted by the tan bandage wrapped securely around my wrist and hand. I gazed at it, as if trying to identify the material.

"He's been there all night," House informed me, reminding me of the sleeping kid at my side. "Stubborn little bastard. Wouldn't even go when Jim came to get us."

It took a minute for me to let his words sink into my brain, and I glanced down again at Matt, who must have been uncomfortable falling asleep in that position. I blinked lazily, but I couldn't keep the small smile from turning my dry lips upward. I tried to reach down, having an urge to run my fingers through the dark tresses, but the damned bandage restricted any real use of them, so I settled for simply resting my hand on top of his head. He shifted minutely at the touch, but apart from a tiny indecipherable murmur, his silence signaled he was still out.

I felt my breathing coming easier then, and when I languidly swung my attention back to the doc, I couldn't help but point out, "You're still here, too."

House lowered his eyes, apparently fascinated by the pulse monitor clipped onto my finger. "Hmph. Well, wasn't gonna let the brat stay here alone. Who knows what twisted voodoo he might try behind the hospital's back?"

I sniggered lightly at that, allowing the sneaky bastard his dignity in not confessing his true concern. He was there – that's all I cared about.

I continued staring in my drugged-up delirium, enjoying the quiet for while – in the room _and_ in my head – before I felt the urgent impulse to know...

"Where's... What happened to... _him?_"

House must have known my hesitance in asking, but my dire need to know – even if it was clear _he_ wasn't in the room – won out over any fear I had in bringing him up at all.

"The police brought him in to get checked," he told me indignantly. "Seems he somehow got a broken nose during his little rampage..."

I caught his gaze with my own and offered a sheepish grin. "Funny, that. Wonder how it happened...?"

He shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Lots of things can happen when someone loses control..."

The smile faded slowly and I hazarded a deeper breath, the strain on my ribs lessening bit by bit. "Think he'll be let off easier, seein' as he was kinda... y'know... `under the influence' or whatever?"

House had to have noticed the faint worry in my voice, because his stare turned steely and cold. "I think the fact that he went after the same kid more than once cancels out any sympathy for a drug problem. That's almost premeditated."

I blinked at him, honestly startled by his blatant words. "Y-You... knew?" I asked shakily, tension fighting through the calming quality of the morphine to stiffen me up again; if I'd been able to, I probably would have tried to stumble out of the bed. "H-How did you..."

His face softened and he put an assuring hand on my arm. When I'd settled back into the pillows again, my breathing regulating, he watched me intently, a strangely sympathetic look in his typically distant eyes. "How much do you remember?"

"'Bout what?" I asked, thinking vaguely that I could just forget about any of this if I just kept counting my inhalations.

"Last week," he went on. "The last month – anything. How much of it can you recall in your own mind?"

"Oh good," I mumbled cynically. "At least you started out with an _easy_ one..."

Yet as I tried to concentrate through the clouds of confusion brought on by the drugs, I began to have images – just flashes – of brief moments I couldn't clearly explain. The way my mind normally worked, I automatically mused to myself how fascinating it was that these things had been hiding away in my brain all that time, but when putting out an actual effort to remember, they came out like a flood.

Not that much of it made any sense to me. I recalled standing in my kitchen back in Glasgow, my father standing across from me with a terrified look in his eyes; I remembered being in the office at the bowling alley, staring at a wad of money in my hands that I'd taken from the petty cash drawer; and I could envision the view of a long, deserted country road as I walked from a train station to the school – a back way, through the forest.

But actually leaving – actually escaping from some undetermined morbid fate, whatever it had been – that part was less clear. I had a short, disturbing memory of cursing blindly – even if I hadn't recognised the words coming from my own mouth, I knew in my head I'd been trying to swear – at the man in the house with me a week before... I'd had to get away, I recalled vaguely. I was trapped there with him and my panic was making me do anything I could to just get _away_...

And in my weary mind, I finally recalled why I'd had to run. And then I heard my own meek, frightened voice letting the words trickle out of my mouth: "He found me... I don't know how but he.. he found me..."

The doctor shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me. "Simon... Do you remember the fight with your father?

Slowly, my eyes flickered toward him. I shook my head. "There was no f--... He wasn't there. That man, the one from the club... He found me--"

But the doctor was shaking _his_ head as well. "No – he didn't, Simon. You thought it was him, but that was just a delusion."

I stared hard at him, stunned by his words. "But I... I _saw_ him..."

"No," he repeated gently, covering my hand with his own – and for House to go out of his way to make physical contact... well, I knew that he wasn't messing about. "That wasn't him, Simon. That man you saw – that was your father. You were hallucinating. You thought he was coming after you because, from all the stress and fear you suffered over being raped the first time, and then losing your mother--"

"She's not _dead!_" I shouted, with such force that I ended up jerking my body in such a manner that I aggravated my injury again. As I lay there breathless and tense, the doctor tightened his grip on my hand.

"She is, Simon," he whispered. "She's been gone for almost a month now."

I winced and curled my head down, the ache in my side growing despite the drugs, spreading to my chest while my breaths turned to strained wheezing.

"She's not dead, doc," I gasped out desperately, even as another part of my mind fought to gain control of my senses. The words kept coming, though, and the tug of war inside me became so intense that it caused my eyes to well up. "Everyone keeps saying that, but they don't know, they didn't see – I _saw_ her! She was _there_, right there in font of me, I _saw_ her—"

"Why would you leave," House cut into my rant, "a place where you know your mother is?"

I stopped in my fit, gawking blankly at him. I could feel the perspiration trickling down my face, my back, my hands clutching the bed sheets fiercely.

"If your mother is there, you'd be safe, right?" he challenged me. "You said that man was in your house – why would you leave your mother alone in a house with him if you're so afraid of him?"

I gulped, my eyes blinking rapidly; I was losing control, not just of my thoughts, but of my body now too, as the trembling began to overwhelm my spent muscles.

"It's because she wasn't there," he hissed to me when I couldn't come up with an answer. "_He_ wasn't there. Neither of them were, Simon. But the stress of everything that's happened to you caused a disturbance in your brain. It's overloaded, and your two biggest fears were at the front of your mind and took control..."

"I'm not afraid of my own mother!" I argued angrily, furious that he wouldn't believe in what I'd seen. "Why would I delude myself that she's there if I'm not afraid--"

"Because you're afraid of _losing_ her – which, in fact, you _did_. And whenever that fear of that bastard finding you again got too strong, your mind imagined a safety net to keep some kind of balance – your mother, your safeguard. And when your fear got so bad that not even she could drive him away, you went _looking_ for some place safe. Your home away from home."

I froze in the bed, his words finally reaching me – and finally falling into place, making some kind of sense.

"...The school," I croaked raggedly. "Matt..."

House nodded, apparently pleased that I was allowing myself to accept this theory of his.

He leaned in closer. "But it was all in your mind, Simon. The man you thought was after you – he's been here all along. No one came after you. You mistook your father for your hallucination – he's not trying to hurt you. He wants to _help_ you. We all do..."

My heart's edgy racing gradually began to subside, and I sank back into the pillows, exhausted. "So then... my mother..."

"Is gone," he confirmed, his voice low, consoling.

And all I could do in that moment, as he'd laid it all out for me so neatly and precisely, was close my eyes and let the tears trail down my cheeks.

It felt like I was losing her all over again. And my brain didn't want to cope with it.

"I guess," I murmured as I began to drift off again, "you win... this one, Doc..."

_I'm on the beach again. I don't know why or how I know it's the same beach; many tend to look alike, but I just know it's the same one as before. Only this time, you're not here._

_Instead, there's a boy in your place. The same wee kid who was hanging around when the factions in my mind were at war; the same elusive brat who kept nicking everything in sight._

_But all he's doing now, as I approach him, is making a sand tower. Not a fancy castle, but just a tower, going up and up and up. He doesn't seem to notice me, even as my shadow covers him. He just keeps piling wet clumps of sand on top of each other without a glance upward._

_Finally, I ask him, "What are you doing?"_

"_Building," he answers._

"_Building what?"_

"_A bridge."_

_I kneel down beside him, eying up the tower skeptically before turning back to him. "Doesn't look like a bridge to me."_

_But his nod is confident. "It is."_

"_Don't bridges normally go horizontal?"_

"_Not this one. This one goes up."_

_I watch him for a while as he keeps adding on, even when the thing looks like it'll topple over any second._

"_How far up you goin'?" I ask._

"_As high as it can go," he answers, standing when his arms can't reach the top anymore._

_I chuckle, reminding him, "Y'know, there's only so high __**you**__ can go; __**and**__ only so much sand."_

_He pauses for a moment, looking down at me so gravely that my amusement ebbs._

"_Then I'll climb to the top and add from there," he replies smartly, with conviction only a child with an unstoppable imagination and belief can utter._

_My smirk fades._

"_And as for sand," he goes on, picking up another handful, "there's no limit to what can make up a person."_

_I squint up at him, suddenly in awe of his simple wisdom. I drag my fingers through the sand, feeling the soft scrape against my flesh._

"_What... is this sand made of?"_

_He doesn't look back at me, only answers, "A grain of sand is minuscule alone; one piece fallen from a clump seems like nothing. But when a whole castle breaks apart, it scatters, and the work to rebuild is endless."_

_He pauses again to catch my eye, adding poignantly, "But you can't say I didn't try."_

_I hold his gaze for a long moment._

_And eventually, as he returns to his tower – his "bridge" - I ask again, "How high do you plan on building?"_

"_Up to the sky," he tells me._

_I try to smother my start of disbelief, but he chides, "For someone who thinks he's so creative, you certainly don't have as much imagination as I'd hoped you would. Are you gonna sit there and mock me? Or are you gonna get off your ass and help?"_

_Before I know it, I'm on my feet, the kid sitting on top of my shoulders, and I'm hugging the base of the tower hopefully, as convinced as he is that we can build this bridge to infinity._

Matt:

I was confused at first when I woke in the early hours of morning, my neck and shoulders aching, to find Dr. House huddled on the other side of Simon's bed with two vaguely familiar figures. I checked the patient first, of course, and was disappointed to find him still unconscious, but as I studied him, the doctor's words to Simon's father and brother reached me.

And when I realised from those words that Simon had awakened during the night – whilst I'd been sleeping myself – I jolted upright, letting out a start to announce myself.

"You mean he was awake?" I blurted out without thinking, yanking everyone's attention to me.

My cheeks immediately felt the burn of one whose presence obviously hadn't been expected in a situation such as this, and the looks on their faces - two sets of wary eyes, two thin-lipped mouths pressed together firmly, two exhausted expressions showing the multiple-hour car ride wearing down their respective resolves – pinned me down, as if I were the intruder there.

But Dr. House's slight pause and then confirmation of my question was not nearly as accusing. Hearing his voice was, for the first time, a comfort in this awkward moment.

"Briefly," he told me. "He still wasn't quite lucid, so I imagine he's still suffering from some psychological delusions. But physically, it seems his brain is intact. There doesn't seem to be any signs of permanent damage from the beating. But the psychological aspects are what I'm mainly concerned about right now, which is why I wanted to recommend this psychiatrist I know of..."

I lowered my stare from the virtual strangers, then, at least partially relieved for the positive news; still, the next thing I felt was an overwhelming annoyance, an irrational anger at myself for having been asleep the one time he'd awakened. I hung my head in my hands, glaring down at his wrapped wrist, cursing myself for such a ridiculous let-down such as that...

But as I continued to stare and as the doctor went on to his father and David about Simon's condition, I noticed after a while that the fingers in front of me were twitching – very slightly, weakly.

Once I saw this, I jerked my head up, studying the stubbled, bruised face carefully. Sure enough, those dark eyelashes that had been so still the night before now began fluttering open slowly. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, and leaned in closer to him.

"Simon," I whispered, cautious not to interrupt the doctor's monologue again. "Hey, Simon... Si, it's me..."

Gradually, the eyelids lifted, and the brilliant blue irises I'd come to know so well peered back up at me blearily.

"M-Ma..." he croaked out – and at the noise, the doctor spun in his spot to look down as Si's father and David gathered in closer to the bedside.

"Hey," I whispered back, unable to keep the goofy grin off my face. "I've been waitin' for ya..."

And though he was too tired, in too much pain, to return the smile, as the others flurried about in an attempt to call his _actual_ doctor in, I felt a nudge against my wrist, felt him slip two fingers gently into the palm of my hand. Keeping his eyes focused on me, he blinked slowly and exhaled a heavy sigh.

I moved in close, knowing he wanted to say something only my ears should have heard.

"You... stayed."

I nodded. "Of course. I'm gonna be your nurse," I proclaimed cheerfully, hoping that the others weren't paying attention to my slight teasing.

But Simon was – in fact, it could have been wishful thinking, but I could have sworn I saw a shimmer of that familiar Simon twinkle in his eyes. I was so convinced, because he could barely manage a grimace, that I'd imagined it – but then he tugged on my hand, and I tilted my head forward, his lips brushing against my ear softly.

"You do realise, Bells, if _you're_ my nurse, I fully expect to see the white stockings."

That's when I knew – I wasn't imagining anything. Simon was still in there – and apparently, he was gonna be _fine_.


	22. Chapter 22

Title: Lesson 22: How To Hold On Tight

Warnings/Rating: teens or so – language, those scary alternative lifestyle "choices," etc. Pre-revision.

Disclaimer: Fiction, ain't real, these people don't exist in this form.

Matt

I sat outside the hospital laboratory, hunched over my lap and staring at a random tabloid magazine without actually seeing it. There were only a few people ahead of me, so it wouldn't be long before I was confronted by that devious needle. I didn't really care to have sharp things stuck in my arms, but at least the needle wouldn't have some snide remark or taunt waiting for me. So I wasn't quite as appalled by the thought of it as I'd been by the confrontation I'd had with House only half an hour earlier.

I was sure it was all really just a ploy to get me out of the room for a bit so Simon's family could visit with him in private. I'd been by his side since Friday night, even refusing House's urges to get something to eat in the cafeteria at noon on Saturday. I didn't care if I seemed to be intruding, I didn't care how rude I came off – I'd made him a promise and I wasn't about to break it again.

But when House coaxed me outside to have a private word, I finally gave in – only because Simon assured me it would be all right, not because of the wary glare his father had been giving me all morning.

I wished I'd been as stubborn as before, because being quizzed on my sex life by an instructor was not exactly what I considered to be a good time. But I supposed House was right in his reasoning as a doctor, so his earnest need to know if I'd slept with Simon in the past month was not simply an excuse to dig up questionable material to tease me over.

Yet I still couldn't grasp the idea that I was in any danger myself – too focused on the immediate struggles Simon had before him to worry over my own health. But it was a legitimate concern, whether he'd been infected by anything the bastard who had attacked him might have given him. Seeing as none of us – including the perverted prick – had given any thought to using any kind of protection, it was a definite possibility; but even as I sat there awaiting my fate, I couldn't find the heart to care – I just wanted to get back to the room as soon as possible.

I would have to be tested again in a few months anyway, so I didn't see the point in fretting over the outcome. Simon and I would both be put through the wringer on this point for the next year or so, and I was at least satisfied that we could share in the stress of that little situation. But at that moment, I just felt an urge to ignore it all and go back to sit with him some more. Even if he could only limit his words to asking about school and assuring me he was all right, given the other company overseeing us, when he wasn't drifting out of consciousness because of the pain medicine. But I was ready to fall asleep beside him a second night in a row if I had to, if it meant he would awaken an hour later to find me still there, waiting for him.

He had seemed a bit reluctant to let me go to get the tests done, despite what he said, so I could only imagine what sorts of things the doctor and his father were discussing with him while he waited for me to return.

Simon

I could have pretended to be asleep. I could have very well _been_ asleep, for how much they paid attention to me. And me – the subject of their very argument, no less – all I really _wanted_ to do was sleep. I couldn't even make eye contact with my brother David, all huddled in a chair in a corner of the room, his eyes going back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match. They probably thought I _had_ drifted off, actually. Which must have been their reason for referring to me in the third person. I just kept staring at nothing in particular, hearing but not really listening.

"I want to move him home as soon as possible."

"It's not a good idea. If you want my professional opinion, I say it's too soon."

"Greg, he's _my_ son, and I want him back home where he'll be safe—"

"He's perfectly safe right here. He's just not ready to be moved."

"He's _my son_, Greg. I think I know what's best for him. I'll have him transferred to a hospital closer to home."

"That's not what I mean, Mack. Physically he'll be okay in a matter of days. I'm talking about his psychological state—"

"All the more reason to have him back home—"

"He ran _away_ from home, Mack, to get away from the stress he can't handle. All the more reason to keep him here."

"And you think him being _here_ is a bloody holiday for him!? The town where it all happened!?"

"He has friends here, he has me here, he has his – his _best_ friend is here—"

"You can call him my lover," I interrupted suddenly, startling them both. Either they'd been convinced I wasn't listening, or were both sure of my unconscious state that they whirled to me with wide eyes, shocked to see me awake and aware.

Or, hell, maybe they were stunned by my blunt declaration.

I averted my gaze anyway and added, "Well, if you want. If you can handle thinking of that, I mean. But _I_ think of him like that."

There was an uncomfortable silence between them for a long moment, until my father seemed to decide to pretend I was still asleep and turned back to House.

"I can't see to him every day when he's here—"

"You can't at home either. You've got a livelihood to take care of, a business to run. You're not a professional therapist or someone who could devote your time to what he'll be going through. He needs someone to watch out for him constantly, at least for the next few weeks, maybe even months. You just can't do it, Mack."

"He's my _son_, I'll _make_ time to be with him—"

"That's not enough! I'm not saying you wouldn't, or that you're a bad father for not being able to, but what he needs right now, you simply can't give him."

"…"

"I'm telling you this as a friend, Mack. Your son is in a very dangerous place right now. If you don't get him the help he needs, he'll be right back where he was before…"

I waited for a long time, expecting to hear the same hard-headed retort from my father that he'd been giving since this all started. But to my surprise, he sat on the opposite side of the bed from the doctor, silent and smouldering, as we both watched him.

Finally, Dr. House went on, "I know someone here in town who can help him. She's an excellent psychologist, who works primarily with victims in situations like this. But in order for her to help him, he has to stay _here_, where he feels safe and comfortable."

"He feels safer here than at home, is that what you're telling me?" Dad spat out viciously.

House remained calm, stating simply, "Yes. That's what I'm saying." He glanced at me, raising his eyebrows. "Is that right, Simon?"

I hesitated; seeing how distraught my father was over the thought of leaving me there was difficult to take in – but I couldn't very well deny the fact that the thought of going "home" filled me with dread.

After what felt like an eternity, I gathered my strength and confessed, "I dunno… if I can go back there… knowin' she isn't…"

When I trailed off, the words escaping me, my father caught my gaze, and the tears there, the pleading, were almost too much to bear.

I looked away quickly, unable to handle seeing him so upset because of me… Yet all I could come up with for an answer…

"I want to stay."

Matt

By the time I made it back to the room, "the family" had had more than enough time alone with Simon (according to _my_ clock). I had, after all, gotten lost on my way back three times. The nursery had been an interesting trip, getting to make faces at all the tiny newborns behind the glass. And wandering onto a floor full of senile old folks had been an eye-opener – especially when some old bag came after me with her stick, demanding to know where her bedpan had gone…

But when I'd nearly strayed into a surgical room, I was hastily led away by a passing nurse, who was kind enough to look up Simon's information to find where I was supposed to be and direct me there.

When I finally reached the correct hall, I came upon Dr. House and Si's dad standing outside the closed door, having a heated but hushed argument. I slowed my pace and huddled in a nearby doorway, glad that neither seemed to have noticed me, and listened intently.

"He's never been the kind of kid who needed twenty-four hour surveillance, Greg. You know how frustrated it makes him to think someone's always looking over his shoulder."

"Like I said, Mack, I'm not saying you're a bad father, but listen to what I'm telling you: your son tried to kill himself, in front of your own eyes, only a week ago! He's been hearing voices and seeing things. And that was _before_ nearly being beaten to death by some drugged-up maniac—"

House's graphic choice of words seemed to hit the other man hard, as a sharp intake of breath made the doctor back off a bit.

"I'm just saying, he isn't himself right now, so that independent adolescent you knew so well _isn't_ in a place where he can think clearly enough to handle being alone. I _told_ you, the dean and I can work out a suitable situation for him, as long as he stays here and gets the treatment he _needs_."

"Well, what about what _I_ need? I've just lost my wife, damn it, I don't want to end up losing my son as well…"

"And you _won't_ – as long as he's where he needs to be. If you take him back now, _that's_ what will make you lose him. You heard it yourself, from his own mouth – he can't take going home just yet. You have to trust me, Mack. You know I'll take care of him like he was my own. I give you my word: Jim and I will _not_ let anything bad happen to him. I _promise_ you. Just like I promised Ellie."

The mention of his wife's name must have gotten to "Mack" as well, because he seemed unable to fire back with anything else.

Dr. House stepped in closer to him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder and insisting quietly, "We'll take good care of him, Mack. You won't lose your son if I can help it."

In such a tediously private moment, it felt too awkward to announce myself – but when the door beside my hiding space opened and an unfamiliar voice asked, "May I help you?" there was no use trying to blend into the background anymore.

I excused myself in a flurry of apologies and hurried away from the intimidating gorilla-like nurse who had startled me, sidling up by Dr. House as he rolled his eyes at my tactless nature.

"S-Sorry," I mumbled to the two old friends, my eyes shaded from Mack's surprised gaze. "Wasn't, um… I didn't mean to seem all, like, sneaky--"

"Oh, drop it, Bells," House chided, his typical exasperation around me taking the stage again. "The whole idea behind eavesdropping is being covert and _sneaky_, so of course you _meant_ to."

I cleared my throat at this, but had nothing to say to protest.

"It's all right," Mack sighed, looking weary and defeated as his eyes fell on me. "I suppose if I'm to leave my son with people who are supposed to look after him, someone as precocious as this should be a safe bet…"

"Precocious, huh?"

I glanced up, catching the mild smirk on House's face as he eyed me up.

I squirmed uncomfortably under their mutual stares, feeling like a squashed bug on a microscope slide, or a malfunctioning machine being inspected for possible faults.

"Yeah… I can't argue that one," the doctor surmised, startling me further by patting me on the back with something akin to… _approval_.

_Well_, I thought smugly, _if even Dr. House thinks I'm good enough for Simon…_

When I re-entered Simon's room alone, leaving the "adults" to their "adult conversation," I was a little put off to find Simon actually sitting up in the bed. I immediately started in on my chiding for his stubbornness to override orders to just rest, but I was cut off – not by the rolling eyes or his playful smirk (I was used to those), but by an equally bemused snickering from the corner. I spun about with a start, having completely forgotten that his brother was still hiding out in a corner of the room, to find the bearded face curled into a sly grin.

"I see you're already vyin' for next in line to be his mum," David quipped, pulling an indignant scoff from me.

"I'm not mothering him," I argued, even as I leant over the patient to replace the sheet over his chest. "I'm simply making sure he doesn't strain himself – being on morphine can mask any actual pain—"

"Ah, forget it," David interrupted again, finally abandoning his chair to take a seat on Simon's other side. He gave his brother a brief once-over before tousling the already messy mop of dark hair. "He's tougher than 'e looks."

Simon only mumbled incoherently as he sank down lower into the pillows, but didn't make a move to swipe his brother's hand away.

Then David leant forward more, chin in his hands, and nudged Simon's arm with his elbow. "So, c'mon, mate – you're gonna be needin' a sponge bath soon, I reckon, eh? Think one a' them pretty nurses'll be the chosen victim to administer that?"

I sighed heavily at the older man's purely obvious insinuation, but Simon just smiled, reminding him, "Don't care if they do. Won't do nothin' for me."

David waved that off dismissively, insisting, "No, maybe not _you_, but think about _me_, eh? C'mon, have a heart. Do it for your big brother, eh?"

Simon finally crooked an eyebrow at him, asking the very same thing that happened to be crossing my own mind at the same time: "You'd really get off on seein' a hot bird givin' a bath to another person? Namely, _me?_"

David hardly seemed repulsed. He held out his hands helplessly. "I've got a decent enough imagination to be able to switch places mentally. C'mon, be a mate, wouldja?"

Simon only chuckled at his brother's lascivious nature, but I stood my ground and asserted condescendingly, "He doesn't need some hussy _nurse_ tart to bathe him. Not when he's already got _me_."

David cringed visibly. "Eh… It just ain't the same, man. Sorry, I really don't care what you two get up to alone, but personally I ain't about to go daydreamin' 'bout my baby brother's male lover – no offense, man."

"None taken," I assured him coolly.

"It's just… I ain't into dudes like he is."

He glanced at me, then, raising his eyebrows in interest. "Not that I think he's got bad taste or nothin'… But I prefer a bit more cleavage myself."

I caught his sneaky, wide-toothed grin, and when I noticed the similarity between it and Simon's own honest smile, I realised that David was telling me more than what he actually said.

I smirked back gratefully and recommenced fretting with the sheets.

So now even the brother approved. Surely this would mean the father would come around and – maybe not immediately, but hopefully one day – accept that I was now a permanent part of Simon's life.

By late Sunday afternoon, Dr. House had finally coerced Simon's dad into accepting his plan to keep Simon with "us" while he sought psychiatric treatment outside the hospital. The man was still not keen on the idea; his reluctance was obvious, as David had to practically drag him out of the room to make the long trip back to Glasgow in order for David to be ready for work the following day. But in this respect, Simon seemed grateful for his brother's frank manner of approaching things, since it got their dad off his back after looming over him all weekend.

Not that I blamed the bloke, of course – he was scared and nervous for his son, wanting to do something for him, to help him somehow. It must have been difficult for him to admit to himself that the best thing he could do for Simon was to step out of the way. Harder still to realize how much he _didn't_ know his own son. While David had been a bit startled to find his brother had an actual "lover," his father had been downright _shocked_ to learn his youngest child was gay at all. He never said so, but the way he always looked back and forth between Si and me, I could tell he was just trying to work out in his mind how he was supposed to react to this new information.

It may have been a small thing, but for me, it felt like a huge step forward when, as they were leaving, his father paused beside me and put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of confusion and desperation, and begged quietly, "Just… take good care of him for me."

It wasn't quite the undeniable certainty and relief I'd felt when I'd realised David was "on my side," but it was definitely an improvement to his blatantly cold disregard for me completely.

So as Dr. House walked them out to their car, Simon and I finally had our first real time alone together since this whole bloody mess had started. The contentment on his face was plain to see, as he didn't have to put on any kind of reassuring air to comfort his family, and didn't have to watch his words to keep from offending ears attached to people who didn't seem to know him as well as they thought.

He still looked a wreck, but the easy smile and twinkling eyes that exchanged a knowing glance with me once they were gone, were simply beautiful to me, no matter how pale he was or what kind of machines he was hooked up to.

"Well, I'd sort of planned on you meeting my family under slightly different circumstances," he quipped as I wearily slumped onto the bed beside him. "But maybe we can get it right on your side one day…"

I let out a heavy sigh and stared forlornly at the floor, shoulders slouched in a position of perfect and utter defeat. "I don't think your father approves."

He just snorted at that understatement.

"I'm serious," I whined, sliding onto my side and curling up against him, careful to avoid causing him any discomfort as I joined him on the bed. "Even if he doesn't care about it overall… I don't think he likes me," I pouted, my mouth etched in such a firm frown that my lower lip nearly stuck out like some child having a tantrum.

Simon chuckled lightly, and I felt his arm encircle my shoulders, tugging at me persistently. "Oh, hush up," he cooed, urging me to rest my head on his chest – I hesitated for a moment, unsure of getting that close with his stitches and al, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it. So I finally gave in and nestled against him, closing my eyes as his gentle, mesmerising voice reached me.

"He just doesn't know you, is all. I know if Mum had…"

He cut off abruptly, and I could practically feel him wince at his own words. A moment later, his hand – still half-bandaged – rested on my head, and the soft touch of fingertips in my hair must have been more a comfort for himself than for me… though I certainly didn't mind.

"She loved you," he went on finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "She never met you, and she probably never would've guessed at this happening between us, but… she loved talking to you on the phone. She _wanted_ to meet you, kept asking when you were gonna come for a visit. She always asked after you, every time I talked to her. So I know she would've been happy for me if she knew."

I snickered into his chest, but didn't pull away an inch. Instead, I curled my fingers into a ball around the sheets covering him, gripping them firmly in frustration as I tried to sound nonchalant. "What makes you so sure?" I wasn't even expecting an answer, really.

But he gave me one anyway – simple, direct, matter-of-fact: "Because you make _me_ happy."

I pressed my lips together tightly; to think that all I was doing was what I wanted to do – to be beside him, talk nonsense, whine about my insecurities, cuddle up to him and feel him smile at me – and that made him happy…

"Besides that," he added with a giggle, "you're stubborn as an ass, and she'd definitely trust someone like that with her son's heart, eh? She would've appreciated how… tenacious you can be, when you know what you want."

At this, I lifted my head, turning to peer up at him with cautious eyes. "You sayin' I'm an arse? Or just annoying?"

He burst out laughing, shaking his head. "No, no, no…" A slight pause as he reconsidered, "Well…" then reiterated more firmly, "I mean, no, not annoying… maybe an ass sometimes, but – no, not annoying. Maybe some people see it like that, but…" He bit his lip and averted his eyes shyly as he admitted, "No, not me. In fact, I always admired you for that."

I blinked, startled by this confession. "Eh?"

Simon nodded, his smile wavering a bit. "Aye. Among plenty of other things, of course. But you… You just have this thing about you – this drive, that no matter what it is, as long as you feel sure of it, you'll do whatever it takes to achieve it."

Again, my eyes fluttered, and the truth of his feelings left me breathless, if only for a second or two. The earnest look in his eyes, when he finally met mine and held that gaze steadily, was unmistakable, and I was taken aback by such a declaration from the one person I'd been secretly envious of all year. Our current relationship aside, I'd spent months trying to figure out what exactly it was about him that made people – myself included – feel drawn to him. His kind but playful nature, his open mind and silly imagination, his near-constant good mood and love for life… Even after learning about his darker side – the side that made him go out alone at night to dangerous places and drink himself into oblivion, that wouldn't let him feel the genuine love of another person until he was so debilitated from heartbreak and distant from reality that something as seemingly simple and carnally pleasing as sex would morph into a clinging bond to tie us together so tightly – I knew that he was not anywhere near as cynical as most other people. Maybe even less than _I_ was. Besides, most of that had been brought on by grief he felt over someone he loved wholly, unconditionally. If not for that stressor, Simon would have been the same jovial, weird freak of some kind of super-nature that he'd always been.

And this kind of person, whom I'd fallen in love with, was saying he admired _me?_

"That dedication," he went on, quite ardently, "that certainty… I always envied you for that. M-Maybe it's not really good to envy people," he mumbled, his eyes darting away from me again. "But… I don't know… I think there's something to that cliché about being drawn to people who possess things we wish we had ourselves… You know? I think there are a lot of things in you… I wish were in me, too. You fall in love, you want to tell everyone, even your parents; you miss someone enough, you find a way to see them, no matter what anyone else says or thinks; when you feel something, you really _feel_ it, to the bone, to your core, with everything you have…"

He trailed off with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling with vaguely misty eyes. Then suddenly, he let out a dry laugh, glancing away in self-deprecating disgust.

"Must sound pretty stupid, ridiculously corny… But I swear… I don't think I can _feel_ very much anymore… 'cept when I'm with you… And really… I was surprised… that you stayed with me all this time – all weekend. Even with Dad and Dave here, and everything that's happened… somewhere in there, I kinda thought… anyone else would've run screamin' by now. Or at least said somethin' about leavin', goin' home, or… or somethin'. But you… You stayed. An' I… I really can't even imagine why. I'm… relieved you did, but… you're a lot stronger than most people, I guess. One of the strongest I know. You must really… really like me, to put up with all this…"

"Love," I corrected.

He smiled again, a sweetly innocent, slightly wobbly grin that showed just how insecure he truly felt at that moment. He cleared his throat, shaking his head again.

"I'm amazed… that you can still say that…"

I stared silently up into his weary face, and seeing the sadness building in his expression, his eyes trading the usual mischievous glint for a glazed, somber cloudiness, my chest ached – he really _wasn't_ as "fine" as he'd told his father he was. It had been yet another cover-up, whether to keep the guy reassured or just to keep him at bay.

But the fact that Simon was allowing me to see how he truly felt… even if all he felt now was numbness… I knew for sure that I couldn't let that trust down, ever.

I wanted to rant on and on to him about how ridiculous it was for him to say such things, that I was just happy to have been able to be friends and roommates with him at all, to be close enough to touch a star, so to speak, all year. I wanted to shower him with praise and remind him of how lovely and inspiring he was to me, not to mention the influence he held over countless others, whether he realised it or not. I wanted to regale him with all his previous achievements, official or personal, and reiterate how creative and unique he was, how his imagination and abilities knew no bounds. I wanted to tell him just how precious he was to me, just as a person but even moreso as a lover, a soulmate. I wanted to assure him that just his surviving all of this and – hopefully – the chance of pulling through made _him_ the strongest person _I_ knew.

But all my words would have fallen on deaf ears that night. So I decided to save them for another time, choosing instead to settle merely for a whispered, "In my head, I'm the one sayin' all that stuff to _you_."

At his own glance of surprise back at me, I leant up further toward him and planted a chaste kiss on his lips, then smiled down at his wide eyes, which spilled a few small tears down his cheeks. I didn't know if he shed them out of his overwhelming sadness or out of disbelief of my words, but I wiped them away gently all the same, before resting my head on his shoulder. I couldn't reach into his brain and fix the problems that were causing him this self-doubt and pain, couldn't erase the memories of what had happened to him, but the best thing I could think of was to stay as close as possible. As long as he knew I was there, then maybe he _could_ beat this intangible fear and trouble on his mind. And as long as I could breathe, I promised myself, I would be there for him.

So he shouldn't have been surprised at all by my not being afraid of him or the situation by then – he'd said it himself, so he knew what a tenacious bastard I could be when I knew what I wanted. Obviously, all I really wanted was _him_ – I wasn't about to let him go. Not even _he_ could have pushed me away.

Not that he didn't try…


	23. Chapter 23

Title: Lesson 23: How To Insult Your Inner Actor

Summary: Three months later. Cuz I'm impatient.

Rating/Warnings: language, slight slash (was gonna have more but reality kept me from getting too carried away….), etc., fluff and sarcasm. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is welcome :D

Disclaimer: These people are only characters acting out the warped visions in my head. (Oh, but I borrowed a line or so from Shakespeare, but who hasn't by now?)

Matt

I gazed, forlorn, at the chipped, graying skull clutched in my delicately quivering hand, the nameless grinning imp peering back as if taunting me, daring me to speak the words dancing at the tip of my tongue. I exhaled a deep, soul-draining sigh, my eyelids fluttering, and focused in on the accusing empty eye sockets, finally allowing the angst and confusion within my chest to overflow from my mouth – but carefully, measured, in a voice quite unlike my own… as the words actually flowed rather smoothly – but not too fast…

Warily, I counted out a decipherable rhythm, cautious not to blurt it all too quickly, as I was usually prone to doing. This had to be clear, precise – the unquenchable desperation to understand that which is unable to be explained, but which had to be expressed in only a few facial muscles, a harrowing tone, the depths to which I'd sunk. The questions which plagued me every second of every minute, of every day… I needed to convey this perfectly, to be absolutely certain of my emotions as they were displayed for everyone to see. Exposing this much had always frightened me before – but now, there was no turning back, no stopping, no more doubt…

_"To be, or not to be…_"

And as I continued, my drive only finding new, greater heights from which to soar, an almost imperceptible shifting occurred in my vision, gradually starting to draw my attention…

"…_that is the question…_"

…slowly, slowly… unnervingly slowly… as the blinding light in front of me began to wane, and my vision, once solely focused on the brilliance of that brightness, began to see the shadows of that which truly lay in front of me…

"…"

…until I was completely thrown, trailing off into silence, as I physically ducked down in an attempt to recapture the shine of a virtual star which illuminated me – or, at least, _had been_ illuminating me... – which was now _obviously_ dragging further and further down the foot of the stage.

My ponderous mood evaporated, I could literally _feel_ a vein popping in my forehead.

"OI! Am I borin' you or somethin'!? I'm over here, you stupid nit!"

As I shielded the light from my eyes to peer up into the shaded window at the back of the theater, I caught the distinct sound of a pained groan wafting down over the nearly empty auditorium – only the first few rows of seats were taken up by other actors taking breaks, backpacks, various pieces of half-finished sets, props, and costumes.

I caught the eyes of my superior, who was watching the scene unfold –un_ravel_ – from the middle aisle, an exasperation matching my own contorting his ruggedly handsome face.

"Mr. Mortenson!" I whined, actually going nasal for a second. "Will you please tell the monkey controlling the lights to wake up and do his bloody job!?"

But he was already strolling toward the back of the auditorium.

"Simon," he called up to the dark window which housed the spotlight. "Is there a problem?"

"Aye, sir," came the familiar voice – in a blatantly mocking tone which was also quite familiar. "It seems I'm sufferin' a bout of severe nausea in reaction to bein' exposed to an over-abundance of hackism."

I stomped my foot on the stage, yelling back in a semi-rage, "_Hack!?_ Did the lousy little _TECH_ just call me a _HACK!?_"

Mr. Mortenson kept his cool, though, and pleaded – in his purposefully over-kind manner, which matched Simon's deliberate cheekiness perfectly – "Simon, please keep up with the script, if you don't mind – though _I'm_ the one directing this play, I'll certainly let you know when I need a second opinion. Just try to keep the spotlight on the correct subject, if you would be so kind –"

I could practically hear the evil twit cackling as he called back, "I'm sorry, sir, I would, but only if the dancing ham on stage would be kind enough to tone down the misery schtick a notch or two. I mean, this is drama, yes? But not fall-down crippling _melo_drama, am I right?"

I gawked up at the dark box, mouth waggling wide open at his audacity. "_Hamlet_ is a _tragedy_, you wanker!!" I shrieked at him. "It's s'posed to be like that!"

"Boys – " But the director had already lost his authority – when it came to these bickering sessions between me and Si, not even an instructor could get in the way…

"Aye, but what you're doin' is called _over_actin' –"

I blindly threw down the rubber skull still in my hand – and it bounced away like a ball, flying into the side wing with a comical crash (and some stagehand's irritated howl of frustration).

"Then I dare _you_ to get _your_ bony arse down here 'n have a go at it!" I challenged him ruthlessly.

"Matt," Mr. Mortenson tried to reason – but I wouldn't hear it. I was still yelling incoherently at my _worse_ half, furious over his gall – which must have been harsh for everyone, considering my mic was still on…

"Oh, no, not me, sir," Si cooed when there was a break in my rage (I'd really just needed a breath of air), feigning a bashful tone. "I'm far too shy. Besides," he added dryly, "that'd require actually readin' the bloody play…"

I lifted my chin indignantly in his direction. "Then I think the lighting _tech_ should shut his yammering big mouth and stick to his own job, quit bein' such a bloody critic!"

"I'd agree, but you don't wanna cause the guy who's makin' you look like the shinin' star of the play to suddenly fall ill from rotten ham, do ya?"

Finally, Mr. Mortenson cut in with a (slightly) firmer order: "Simon, that's enough. I'll take back my position as director now, if you don't mind…"

I shook a pointed finger toward the lighting box, warning the operator, "An' I'll be sure to keep this in mind for later, you prick!!"

Mr. Mortenson smirked, raising his eyebrows at me. "Matt, _now_ you're really overdoing it…"

The three months following Simon's attack seemed to just fly by – after, of course, the week immediately proceeding it, as I'd had to go back to a normal routine of school and classwork with the weight of not knowing what he was up to every second of the day bearing down on my mind. Not to mention the numerous times I had to explain (as vaguely as possible) to our friends what had happened.

"Yes, Simon's back, but not really. He's been having some family trouble and personal problems which I can't really get into, but he's catching up with his missed work on his own and isn't living on campus again yet. I can't say what's going on, but yes, he's doing all right, and he misses all of us." After a while, the speech began to sound stale.

Meeting with Dr. House and the dean to discuss the situation was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life until then, apart from the actual incident itself. But the dean was far more understanding and lenient with my part in the whole mess than I'd figured, and I ended up coming out of his office feeling lighter than I'd felt all year.

Most of the situation was being "handled" by officials and such, so all _I_ had to do after that was concentrate on my studies – and then, in a strange twist, the dean requested that I comply with Simon's therapist's advice and visit him as often as possible.

I had no clue how much the dean knew of our relationship, but his genuine concern for one of his students was evident in how he seemed ready to do anything he could to ensure Simon's well-being. He _was_ practically the doll of the school, after all, but it was clearly more than just a casual title; these people really _cared_ about him, and every one of them showed it in how they were willing to help.

Even Chris and Dom, who tended to babble anything they felt like to their mates, kept their lips sealed out of respect – truly they must have both know all about the gritty details, even right down to Simon's psychotic episode in Glasgow. But they kept quiet, only nodding along with the same explanation I gave anyone who asked.

The hardest part, though, was having to stay like that even with the twins. I knew Simon probably would have told them, even if just a bit, but I wanted to let him decide that on his own. James pushed and pushed rather annoyingly to find out more, but eventually he gave up on his own.

Ben, on the other hand… Not only did he give up after a short time of relentless nagging – he completely turned round and started ignoring me for a while, all together, obviously angry that I knew everything but wasn't letting him in on it. At the time I felt a little slighted, but let it go at thinking he was just more protective than James was of his mate. I had no real clue back then just how deeply it had cut him to know that Simon had been suffering and he'd only been aware of the tip of the ice berg, so to speak.

But all I could do was my meager part to assure them he was okay, and let Simon handle the rest – if he felt up to it.

Apart from that, it was hardly a chore to obey my "orders" to go see him regularly; I would have done so anyway, even if the psych people and Dr. House hadn't insisted it was a good way to keep Simon grounded and in-touch with the world around him.

We kept in touch, all right – but it wasn't quite as literal as that, as I'd expected. Not only did it take weeks for his injuries to completely heal, but the trauma of being attacked like that – _twice_ – had undoubtedly left an impression on him. At first, he seemed utterly up for the idea, once the medical doctor cleared him; but after one attempt to even fool around without going "all the way," Simon had nearly schizzed out on me again. For days after that incident, he could barely look me in the eyes, and only apologised repeatedly.

After some _very_ confidential meetings with his therapist, however, he managed to work his way back to at least being comfortable with me again. Two weeks before our "fight" during play rehearsal, we'd gotten close enough to making out as we'd done since that dreadful night, and even if he still wasn't ready to go all out yet, I was confident that he would be soon – and I could only hope that my patience would be rewarded. Handsomely.

After that, Simon seemed to have rediscovered the potency of a teenage libido; every day I was there, he was "after" me, and while I secretly loved it, I had to remind myself not to expect too much too soon. So whenever he started backing off, I followed suit with no complaints. After all, any physical contact for me was a satisfying prospect. I even knew at the time that it was quite remarkable that he was interested at all, considering what had happened.

Though I had to admit, after so many times of fooling around, there was something different about it, about _him_ – the chemistry was still there, as was the genuine yearning to be with me. The emotion and feelings behind it all hadn't changed, except maybe a little less intense than when he'd been so out of sorts, but it wasn't like it was ever _bad_ or forced. Whatever felt different about it, it wasn't an entirely negative thing to me at first.

It was something I just couldn't quite put my finger on, something hesitant and unspoken, but not demanding or cruel. I could tell by about the fourth or fifth time, that he wasn't quite the same as he'd been the two times we'd actually fucked before the night of the attack.

It wasn't until that day in May that I finally figured out what was "wrong" – and then, after realising it, I knew what was missing between us.

The acting gig wasn't exactly my own idea. I'd been coerced into it, really. The dean was all right with Simon being home-schooled until he was caught up and ready to handle being in classes again, but his therapist encouraged him to stay involved in social situations at the school, even if it wasn't on a full-time basis. So, suddenly, the "punishment" of Simon helping the drama teacher, Mr. Mortenson, came up again, and the dean made arrangements for Simon to be able to participate.

Of course, Simon had been wary of the return to school and seeing all those inquisitive faces again, so I volunteered to accompany him, maybe help out behind-the-scenes as well. During casting auditions, while Simon was instructed on the technical aspects of putting on a theatre show – as he insisted he had no real interest in setting foot onstage as an actor – my own interest was piqued by the actual drama part itself.

With his encouragement – and, surprisingly, Dom's as well – I finally gave in and auditioned for a part. By some miraculous twist, I found I had a true affinity for the stage… and wound up getting the lead role.

At first I'd thought it was a great development: here, I could expand my horizons, as well as help Simon re-adapt to a normal social life at the same time.

The problems started up, though, when Simon became a little _too_ comfortable "back in the saddle."

Well, okay, so it wasn't actually a _real_ dilemma – but his judgment on how I was doing could get ridiculously honest and at times obnoxious. But with Mr. Mortenson's help, I was usually able to brush off the excess taunts and actually put the criticism to good use – using it as a way to get better instead of getting insulted by Simon's harsh (and usually bathroom-based) humour.

But the little diamonds in the rough he unwittingly offered me were still not quite enough to make me let him get away with it so easily. I had my ways of making him pay, and I certainly was ready to use them that day.

When he opened the door to my knock that afternoon, his teasing smile was all the acknowledgment he gave to what had happened during rehearsal earlier. But I wouldn't let his charm work on me so easily, and despite the giddiness I felt upon seeing the familiar glint in his playful eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and visibly pouted before even stepping inside the house.

"You're a prick," I informed him angrily, glaring at his pinch-worthy cheeks as I tried to remind myself why I was miffed by him looking so chipper.

It was a bit difficult to pull off, seeing as how he just looked so _good_ to me. Within weeks of being released from the hospital, he had returned to his normal colouring, which was a relief to both me _and_ Dr. House – not all blokes look bad with pale skin, but Simon had definitely had a gray, sickly shade to him for a while there. And, not that he had been pudgy or even overweight, but by then he had gained back some of the weight he'd lost when he'd been "ill," morphing his frighteningly frail, unhealthy frame back into the wiry, muscular physique I'd gotten used to seeing during the time we'd been roommates. His energy back up, he was now going jogging with Mr. Wilson every morning before starting the hours of make-up work at home with Dr. House.

And the Terrible Two were actually proving to be quite fit parents as well: not only did they keep him up on his schoolwork, but – in a private moment, Simon confided in me – even Dr. House had come to show the kid his (_very_) "sensitive" form by staying up all night by his side when Simon couldn't sleep. At times he even stayed in the extra bed _with_ him, so he could be there to wake him from a disturbing dream or calm him down when he woke by himself in a terrible fit of hysterics.

Simon had told me all this reluctantly – not just because he wanted to protect Dr. House's intimidating reputation, mind. But the fact that he still dreamt of the incident, as well as his mother, obviously troubled him, and the last thing he wanted to do was trouble _me_ with it as well. But he'd been warned by his therapist that keeping things to himself could be detrimental to his state of mind, and with her and my assurance, he finally began to accept and believe the idea that some people cared about him enough that sharing these things wasn't a burden, but a welcoming sign that he really did want to be open with us.

It seemed to be a brand new idea for him, one which took some getting used to, that people were concerned about him and wanted to know the truth about how he was doing. Several times he had to backtrack and correct himself after automatically responding to my asking after him, trying to be honest instead of simply brushing over it with an easier, "Fine." I had to make it clear to him that I truly wanted to know, that it wasn't just a courtesy or a reflexive, rhetorical question.

Eventually, he started to get the hang of it, so I knew right away that day that he truly was feeling pretty "fine" when he opened the door wider to invite me into the house with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Perhaps in reference to this very subject, he chided me condescendingly, "Aw, I wasn't tryin' to be mean, Bells – I was just tryin' to keep ya honest, is all. At least, as honest as an actor playin' a part can get, anyway."

I scowled at him some more, keeping my arms as they were stubbornly, but finally relented and stomped my way past him inside.

"You could do it in a less public manner," I sniped back childishly. "Like, without the rest of the cast all snickering at me behind their hands –"

"Aw, was that what you were worried about?" he giggled as he closed the door and turned to me. "'Cause I'm pretty sure they were just laughin' at me bein' the same ol' annoyin' dumbass I always am. They weren't laughin' at you."

Not that it truly bothered me, really – I'd long since gotten over looking like an idiot after becoming _his_ friend – but I couldn't let him know that, of course. He was going to have to work a little harder for my forgiveness; I'd already decided that on the way over. Especially if he wanted to screw around – and since the foster parental figures weren't home then, I knew he would. (Not that I would have protested at all, mind – this was just ammunition.)

To keep my vision (however shoddy) of dominance intact, I took the lead and let him follow me back to his bedroom, retaining a smug air about me which – _I_ thought, at least – was convincing enough.

"Well, whomever they were laughing at, I still don't appreciate your scathing remarks – especially since, as Mr. Mortenson _tried_ to remind you, _you_ are not the director. I think it would be best if you remember your place next time. _Tech_."

"Of course, darling," he obliged – a bit too agreeable to sound sincere.

I paused in the doorway to his room and glanced up at him over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes suspiciously when I caught the sneaky grin on his face.

And then, as if on cue, he reached up and pinched my cheek affectionately. Just as I'd thought of doing to him minutes earlier – only he hadn't stopped himself… the _prick!_

"You're just so darn cute when you try to be condescending, y'know that?"

I could feel the bright red flush crawling from my neck up to my face and pursed my lips, swiping his hand away irritably as I stomped into his room and hurled my backpack on the floor by his bed.

"Aww," he cooed, even more sweetly than before after seeing my display of anger. "Is my widdle Matty feewin' fussy today?"

"Yes!" I snapped back, flopping on the bed indignantly and pouting some more. "You're so mean!"

"Ohh, okay," he finally relented, edging onto the mattress next to me and stroking my hair. "I'm sowwy…"

I slapped his hand away again, drawing a string of giddy giggles from his throat as he sat against the wall and I stayed stubbornly on my back, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Don't give me `sowwy,'" I hissed. "you know, you're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

"Ohhhhh…" he leaned over my head, that giant grin taking up half his face, and bumped my nose gently with his own. "Yeah I am."

I struggled with that for a moment – wanting to deny it outright and curse him out all over again. But as he continued his insistent nuzzling, I simply couldn't find it in me to push him away another time. Instead, I let him go for a bit, allowing myself to enjoy the feeling of his lips brushing over my cheek, his fingers lightly dancing through my hair, and his warm breath glancing over my skin, down to my neck to make me shiver in that delightful way. When he leaned low enough, I easily gave in and let his tongue slip between my lips, eyes fluttering shut as he took a long, languid taste. Denying him a kiss was more a pain to _me_ than it was to him, so I welcomed the unsolicited advance without protest.

However, since I had an idea of what may have been troubling him about our intimacy by then, I couldn't keep myself from testing the boundaries. As the kiss grew deeper and I felt his other hand grazing over my covered chest, I reached up slowly to carefully brush my fingertips over his neck, being sure to touch naked flesh as I inched my hand down lower toward the buttons on his shirt.

And, as I'd expected, as soon as my touch reached him, his form went rigid. He made no move to stop me at first, but the easy calm about him began to dissipate the nearer my hand came to unbuttoning his shirt. And the moment I started actually fumbling with the top button, he lifted his head from me and – still with a weak smile – pulled back some, breaking the kiss as naturally as possible… even if I could tell it was forced in order to put him out of my reach.

I knew he was about to say something completely irrelevant, but that secretive avoidance he wouldn't acknowledge reminded me of how irked I was with him. So instead of letting him off easy with a breezy comment about how he liked to kiss me, I cut in with something else – something I knew would make him equally as frustrated.

"So… have you talked to him?"

He stared down at me dully, and despite the knowing look on his face which told me I'd hit the target, he asked dumbly, "Who?"

I levelly returned the glare. "You know."

The smirk snuck its way onto his lips then, which made me wonder if I actually _had_ hit the target after all… "If I knew, why would I ask `who'?"

But I had figured a way around silly games like this: being just as difficult with him as he was with me. "Because you're Simon," I answered with a bitter snicker. "To be a pain in my arse. To avoid giving a direct answer. Because you don't want to admit that you –"

He sighed heavily at my clever role-reversal and slumped against the wall a bit. "Okay, okay, I get it."

"Pick any one of those," I continued, waving a hand in the air. "Hell, there are prob'ly more I don't even know about, so –"

"_Okay_, smartass, I _get_ it," he reiterated, tapping the top of my head lightly to replace a good old-fashioned smack.

I looked back up at him and repeated, "So have you?"

He gave me the same infuriating matter-of-fact stare as I'd given him only moments before. "Have I what?"

I scoffed, turning onto my side, my back to him. "Fine, see if I give you the answers to the chem exam –"

"Bah, don't need 'em," he snickered, clearly trying to piss me off even more.

So I dove for my last resort – and started to get up from the bed. "Well, then, see if I put out tonight!"

But as I made my way off the edge of the mattress, Simon lunged for me, hooking his arms round my waist and yanking me back down onto my bum. "No, no, wait, hang on!" He _tsk_ed and let me go, slapping a hand to his forehead ruefully. "Oh, you know my weak point now! Damn."

I grinned back at him finally, pointing into his face with a dancing finger as I gloated, "See, you _act_ all mysterious, but it's not all _that_ hard to figure you out."

"Oh please," he scoffed back, "any gayboy our age would gawk in horror at the possibility of losin' out on a chance to grope you…" He broke off awkwardly, eyes going dull for a moment as he reconsidered his words, then amended heartily, "Actually, any boy at _all_ would hesitate at the thought of not getting' to grope _any_one."

"Precisely," I agreed with a nod – and then, with a touch of sarcasm, but a healthy dose of uncertain curiosity, I purposefully turned the discussion to something I was quite aware of by then: "Therefore, I find it baffling that you're all good 'n ready to get me naked and vulnerable, yet you can't even stand it when I try to _touch_ you."

Simon hesitated, blinking his eyes in such a manner that it occurred to me that… this had not happened on purpose.

But once again, he brushed my direct accusation aside with a smile and challenged me, "So if you were gonna try 'n hold out on me for revenge, would that not make _you ab_normal? Even if there were a purpose behind it, horny teenage boys don't usually give a damn about that when it comes to sex. So either you _are_ abnormal for willingly volunteering to _not_ do anything sexual, or you weren't expectin' me to pull back. What would you've done if I'd just said, `okay'?"

Once again, his dizzying logic made me have to stop and think for a while, and when I finally worked out what he was driving at, I didn't know if it was better or worse to admit that I'd been testing him. Sometimes my ability to manipulate – though it wasn't often that I realised I had it – made me ashamed.

So I switched back to addressing our earlier dilemma. "You never answered me."

"No, I didn't. But I wasn't sure which you consider more pressing: my aversion to sex, or my relationship with Ben."

I sighed heavily; at least the guy was forward _some_times. Me being the more non-cynical type, I usually appreciated that. But other times, it could get a bit awkward. I obviously was concerned about his reaction to being raped coming out in such a way in our own relationship – but I wasn't sure how to approach it then. So I focused on something I felt I _could_ handle.

"You really ought to talk to him, Si. He's already got a grudge against me; your avoiding him is only makin' it worse between you two."

To my surprise, Simon didn't seem annoyed by my mention of it at all. Instead, he merely looked… sad. Perplexed, worried, as he gnawed on his lower lip and tried to explain, "…I know. It's just…"

"It's just what?" I urged when he came up empty.

He shrugged helplessly, raking a hand through his messy hair. "I dunno what to say to 'im. Don't really know how to approach it. `Oi, remember when I was all weird 'n shit happened? Well, I thought you should know why…'" He grimaced, shaking his head. "It just doesn't seem to be a proper kinda way to start a conversation."

I sat up straighter on the mattress, turning to face him as I knelt beside him and coaxed, "It doesn't matter _how_ you start it. He'll just be relieved to hear from you, I reckon."

Simon flinched, glancing briefly over at me. "Dunno 'bout that. He might try to make it more difficult for me. An' if he does that 'n then finds out what all went on, he'll beat himself up for treatin' me that way. I don't want 'im to do that; wasn't his fault or anythin'."

"Yeah, but… the longer you wait…" I pointed out. But Simon was already nodding.

"I know, I know. The further we'll get. But… maybe it'd be better that way, eh?" he said, as if asking _me_. But all I could do in response was gawk back.

"_Better!?_ How?"

"Well… he won't have to think of me no more," he reasoned.

I immediately scoffed at that, drawing another fretful glance from him. But I stood by my reaction: "Oh _please_, Simon – you've known each other since you were kids. I think it'd take _decades_ for him to not think about you at _all_. Better to face the music now and get it out than let it fester and rot, like some disease…"

I trailed off when I noticed his blank stare morphing into a rather bemused, bewildered gape. After a long silence between us, he looked away again, raising his eyebrows and shaking himself as if he'd just been bonked on the head with an iron bat.

"…Oh wow – that metaphor was so poorly mixed, I can still see the powder…"

I grabbed for the nearest pillow at my disposal and whacked him with it. "Don't try and change the subject!" I wailed petulantly, mightily embarrassed by my own sorry choice of words.

"I can't help it!" he chuckled, deflecting the soft blow too easily. "Sorry, but I take offence to such vile destruction of the English language."

"Just shut up!" The blush was now covering my cheeks all over again. I huffed and slumped on top of the pillow now on my lap, peering at him hopefully – if a little grumpily too. "Just bloody call him or somethin', will ya? I'm tired of gettin' all his dirty looks at lunch."

"You sure they're such bad looks? Maybe they're dirty in a different way –" he suggested with a surreptitious wink.

"I hardly think so," I muttered seriously. "If anything, he's savin' them up for you, seein' as you two sorta had a thing goin'…"

I suddenly broke off again, the dawning realisation causing my mouth to stop working right for a moment as my brain caught up. "Oi… hang on…" I murmured, eyes going significantly wider as I studied him closely. "Is that why you're avoiding him?"

Simon barely blinked. "Hm?"

"Don't `hm' me," I commanded, smacking his arm. "Tell me straight – is it 'cause you two were… together or somethin'?" I asked, having trouble with the word itself, let alone the idea. "An' I got in the way?"

But Simon laughed that theory off, "No, no…" But I noticed the small quiver to his voice as he tried to make the thought disappear with a giggle. His slight hesitance told more than _he_ did. "Well… No, not like that, really, but…" He finally caught my gaze again, seeming sheepish. "I dunno. M-Maybe a little…"

My shoulders slumped sharply as I let out a rush of breath. "He's still in love with you, isn't he?"

Si winced at my frankness, but at least he wasn't trying to toy with my emotions by being sly. He was being absolutely honest as he confessed, "I dunno. I dunno if that's how he feels. I guess I… I don't really wanna know."

"Why's that?"

Simon was silent, the easy smile long gone by now, and the gloomy expression on his face was proving that I'd gone a bit too far in my "revenge" – now we had a genuine _problem_ on our hands.

Despite my own trepidation, I continued in a strained voice, "Are you still… Do you still…"

But then Simon cut me off, letting out a forced burst of laughter and shrugging. "It doesn't really matter, does it? Despite what he may believe, he's straight. I can just tell – he felt a bit more for me for a while, prob'ly just outta sympathy or whatever, knowin' I was havin' a rough time 'n aw."

He turned to face me directly, even taking my hands in his and squeezing confidently. "But he isn't… he isn't like us, Bells. I can see it in him; he doesn't go like that. He doesn't have the kind of feeling we have for each other –"

"For anyone but _you_?" I suggested – a slightly (and rarely) cynical edge to my tone.

He winced, as if I'd slapped him. "Don't put it like that –"

"I'm serious!" I insisted passionately, cynicism gone, overtaken instead by guilt and paranoia. "What if… What if I _did_ come between you two? What if I was the one who ruined it for you guys –"

"Then it wasn't like you weren't invited," he pointed out sharply – and in that stern of a voice, I knew he wasn't takin' the piss either. He leaned forward into me, his eyes glued to mine. "I came here to see _you_, you know."

But I had to play devil's advocate here and pointed out miserably, "That's just what House guessed at and we all agreed on. But maybe you came back for him but ran into me first. You were rattled and out of sorts that day – that whole bloody _month_ –"

"You tried to get me to go see him, remember? An' I said no. Even if I was mental, I remember _that_ much."

I tried and tried to search for another point to challenge him with, like some self-destructive wench who loves the feeling of pain, of having your heart ripped out.

"True, but…"

"No buts," he interrupted strictly, and before I could stop him or say anything else, he'd scooped me up in his arms and pulled me into his lap - trembling a little when my hands automatically latched onto his chest for balance, but actually making himself let go of the initial reflexive fear in order to prove his own point. Even if his physical body was having trouble remembering what a loving touch felt like, his mind was in the present, and he wanted me to understand.

"That's how it was, Bells. _You_ were the one I came for. _You_ were the one I wanted. That hasn't changed at all."

And, to emphasize this, he kept me from protesting by pulling me closer against himself, silencing me with another kiss – deeper this time, firmer, and more convincing with his arms round my waist and his hands on my back. Holding onto me so that I knew, beyond my doubts, that he was telling the truth.


	24. Chapter 24

Title: Lesson 24 (the REAL 24!): How To Contact Old Friends

Warnings/Rating: language, non-graphic slash, fluff, angst, AU, etc. Pre-revision

Feedback: is welcome XD

Disclaimer: I am not related to or acquainted with anyone these characters are based on. I just think they're perty. This be fictional, aye.

Simon:

I never wanted to be an empty shell. Even at my lowest, I kept holding onto the promise I'd made myself that I'd always feel something, be it good or bad. Indifference is the real killer. Hatred and anger can be destructive, but you can rebuild from wreckage. If you start out with nothing, where can you go?

Luckily, even when I was just a shell, I recalled I'd not come from nowhere. There had been something existing inside there for years. So even if it felt gone, I knew it was somewhere. Not being able to feel it was unnerving, but that was when my logical brain cells rubbed together to create a spark of remembrance. It was just lost – floating around in the stratosphere? But I knew I'd collect it all again eventually. Maybe I couldn't sew it all back to perfection, and maybe I'd stumble a lot on the way, but these arms and hands I hadn't asked for or expected kept appearing in front of me, urging me to keep going, no matter how tired I got. And that little brat kept visiting me in my dreams, reminding me that there was an entire beach to pull my resources from.

I could feel pieces of myself slipping away constantly since that day. Not the day she died. Not the night I was raped. But that night I slept against her, like a child with a fever, clutching her dressing gown and crying quietly into her chest as she patted my head and whispered things to me I wanted to record externally so I could have proof, the voice echoing through speakers surrounding me, repeating the words to me, over and over again, until I knew I'd never lose the memory of that sweetness. Something solid and physical to keep her there with me, comforting me in my darkest nights. But I only had the memory itself.

Thinking of everything that made me scared, that night, nothing could have made me feel more invincible, even as I wept over her. I knew it somehow, that it would be my last night with her, my last opportunity to say everything I wanted her to know. And I tried. I knew I'd forget things as I blurted out one thing after another, apologies and promises and secrets I'd kept for years – or just days; but I kept going. And she took all of it, every bit of it, every piece of me, and she held me so lovingly. Even after I drifted off, despite trying so hard to stay awake, she held me. Wouldn't let me go that easily, she said.

She told me I would live. Not just survive, but _live_. She knew I would get through and continue on. And the only thing she wanted me to do was care for myself. That would be her proudest accomplishment, she said – to have a boy who _lived_, and loved as much as he could stand to. To do things by my terms, to live by my own rules, even if it got me into trouble – she confessed that it was probably unwise advice from a mother, but that she truly wanted me to be _me_, to break any rules I needed to in order to do this, whether or not it meant being "rebellious." Despite all the talk and threats and dangers in life, she wanted me to live as passionately as she'd always wanted to, but didn't have the strength for.

Though it had literally made me crumble, though I wasn't sure if I should have because I knew she would worry and _really_ not be able to do anything about it, I'd told her about that night in the club, simply because I didn't know what to do, and I needed to know if I was still _allowed_ to go on, after being so weak and letting that happen.

She hadn't gone on any rant, hadn't scolded me for anything, yet hadn't told me straight out what course I should have taken or what to do. She merely held me and assured me I was safe, and that I would be strong enough to overcome any pains that came with it. No man's hands could possibly cage me, no loss could keep my aspirations buried, and no violence could ever kill the ingenuity inside me.

I forgot all she said when she died, though. I lost all those beautiful words, got so caught up in the momentum of my grief, that I let the sorrow and madness overtake me. I forgot who and what I really was, only longing for that physical confirmation of what I refused to believe. Wouldn't let myself believe in it, in what I knew was real.

Until I felt that embrace I never thought I'd ever feel again. Honest and earnest, caring and selfless, gentle and nurturing. And when I felt it again, but coming from an unexpected pair of arms... I remembered her promises. Her unconditional adoration. Whoever was holding me, I swore to myself, I would never let them go.

It wasn't when we had sex. Or even when he held me in the car on the way to the hospital. Wasn't in those hours he spent by my side, relentlessly waiting for me to come back to him.

Silly twat. Should've known for sure I wouldn't have left him that easily. Not letting go so quickly. I knew the moment he sat next to me when everyone else stepped back to let me breathe. I didn't want them to. I didn't need air, I needed that hand he put on my arm. _He_ gave me what I needed, all I wanted. He came all the way just to see me, for no particular reason except he "felt wrong." That was when I knew it. Yes, all the way back then, as I'd said. His simple, innocent touch was all it took. And that was what kept me there, all those months before. Nothing else mattered, no _one_ else mattered by that point. His grasp on me that day was the relief I'd been seeking since I'd known she was going to be leaving me. That was when I knew, I would never be alone again.

Unfortunately, sometimes even not being alone won't cure everything. Despite all this positivity around me, despite the knowledge that I had Matt there for me constantly, it couldn't dispel all my insecurities. Maybe the trauma of the attacks and losing my mum did something to the inner-workings of my brain, but I simply couldn't climb out of the rut I'd fallen into since it all began to spiral out of control. Before, if a setback came up, I faced it head-on and usually overcame it; this time, I seemed to be running out of steam before even starting to fight.

Useless. That's what I'd become, in my mind. A useless, worthless, pathetic heap of flesh and bone that couldn't even defend itself when put in a dire situation. A nobody, a nothing, a weak loser with no hope of surviving more and more years of misery piled on top of each other serving no purpose. Only causing trouble to those around me, only bringing grief and hardship to deal with. Just a burden they should have never been saddled with. They put so much effort into trying to restore me, but for what? Their work was futile. All I gave them in return was more strife, more anguish. More miserable days which added up to months upon months – and for what? For me to crumble all over again, into an even bigger pile of shit every time I slipped.

I was tired of being a source of such pain. Tired of making people hurt. I wasn't worth all their tears and frustrations, and the more I saw those things in their eyes, the more I hated myself for being that troublesome wretch they all felt like trying to save. What would one loss be to them? They'd invested so much more into me than what I'd ever given them – they'd deserved more.

So maybe one more pain could be given, to save them from further years of multiple ones. One sore spot which would ache for a time, but which they could all eventually get over. They could move on after that – and I wouldn't have to endure anymore disappointment in seeing them all so sad for me.

Besides, what's one little heartache compared to a lifetime of shame?

I thought of these things every night as I lay in bed, so tired from another day of dragging myself through their encouragement. Exhausted from the tension of these unstoppable reflexes of unconscious paranoia. One brush against my arm sent rigid waves of panic throughout my entire body. Even when I felt relaxed, content to rest my head on a small, inviting shoulder, relieved to find some kind of space of peace within me, when I felt the closest to normal than I'd felt in months – one wrong move sent my heart racing in the wrong direction, my breath shallow and strained. I didn't even have flashes of his face anymore; the sensation itself was overpowering enough on its own.

So the morbid ideas overtook me relentlessly, no matter how much I tried to reason them away with acknowledging their psychological origins. No matter how I explained them as typical post-traumatic symptoms, the _feelings_ were still _there_, eating away at my stomach, my nerves, my conscience. That heavy guilt anchored me in this fixed state of self-loathing, refusing to let me see logic and sense, uncaring that maybe these people worked so hard because _they_ cared. About _me_. My mind battled that thought viciously with the unanswered question of _why_ they should feel that way about me, especially when they'd suffered enough torment and obligation for my sake already.

I still had trouble sleeping, though I kept that fact hidden from everyone (even my surrogate "parents"). I forced food into myself and coerced my body into physical activity – but my mind repeatedly returned to the question of _why_. Why did I bother? Why did anyone else? When it was all going to turn to shit anyway...

That was when I started thinking the really crazy thoughts. When I couldn't figure out any valid reasons they – and I – would go to such lengths.

Because they wanted me to suffer. They wanted me to continue on, to feel this pain, this guilt, this weakness and shame. They probably hated me in secret, and derived some kind of twisted pleasure out of knowing – somehow they had to know – that I wasn't going to climb over this hurdle. They enjoyed seeing me limp and ragged, stumbling to try and seem normal again.

OR maybe because they felt they needed this boy to continue existing, so they wouldn't have to feel the weight of their own consciences bearing down on them for having lost him. Just to have him there physically was enough; they could go on with their lives as usual – it wasn't as if _they'd_ been the ones too meek and careless as to end up in that situation. Then they could hold him up later and say, "See? We _saved_ him!"

Yet I was still the one suffering, taking every tedious, draining day as it came, bearing their need for me to stay alive. They wanted me around, no matter how tired and confused, so they wouldn't feel like they'd failed. Their selfishness only festering inside of me, making me more and more frustrated for being such a worthless little pawn in their game.

Or maybe... and this one really floored me...

Maybe they actually... _loved_ me. Wanted me to stick around for as long as possible, to see what I could accomplish, to see how I could grow and change and learn. Maybe they... liked the person I was already, enough to want to rescue him from a terrible thing. Maybe they knew how tired I was, how much I fought with my mixed emotions and uncharacteristic new fears, and found hope in the "strength" I showed by persevering despite these recent handicaps. Maybe they admired me for surviving, despite everything that had happened to try and take me down. Maybe they knew how much I wanted to give up, but felt encouraged to help me even more with each day that passed – because they saw that I wouldn't let myself.

For a long time, I fell asleep every night with tears running down my face, grasping this ridiculous notion with the only hope I had left in me, that it was the _right_ one.

I'd become hypersensitive to touch. That I let Matt be near me at all was actually quite a feat, but he was always more affectionate than most boys our age. I'd cringed a few times at first, hoping he wouldn't notice, or at least that he wouldn't take it personally. I eventually got to a point where I could even hold him and feel comfortable.

But the attempts made by anyone else – Dr. House, Mr. Wilson, my therapist – even the smallest taps or pats, were enough to make me jump. Half of the times I woke in a panic and lashed out at Dr. House as he tried to calm me were merely reactions to feeling anything on my skin at all – even if he'd just been holding my arms to shake me awake. I punched him in the face once, but that hadn't been intentional, like when I'd simply tried to shake him off in a paranoid frenzy – that time I'd still been stuck in the throes of my nightmare, eyes wide open, and I'd mistaken his haggard mug for that other bastard's grisly snarl. I'd apologised numerous times for that, but Dr. House was surprisingly forgiving.

Though I did still flinch at his comforting hug when I'd fully awakened.

It wasn't until then that I realised just how physically affectionate _I'd_ been throughout my whole life. As uncomfortable as I was with any contact, it also felt strange to be deprived of it purposefully. I simply couldn't _stand_ it, my skin crawling and sweat breaking out if someone stood a bit too close to me. And I only really saw the same few people for several weeks, and they were all people I'd known and been comfortable with for long periods of time beforehand, save for the therapist (who was already familiar with and expected this kind of reaction).

But at the same time, I could notice the cold, withdrawn sensations inside myself. Could feel the anguish in pulling away from some kind of physical confirmation of existence. I started longing for a simple touch, a nudge, anything – but then quickly reverted to shriveling up if that yearning was close to being satisfied. As if I didn't really know what I wanted. It was a difficult struggle to deal with, one of the most awkward ones in my life – including the one which had _caused_ this weird phenomenon.

But, as usual, if anyone was going to be able to bridge that gap in me, it was Matt. He knew full well about my new phobia, so he didn't push things; but, when he sensed I was really, truly _needing_ to _feel_ something again, he was right there to offer his help.

It was simple at first, though still a giant leap for me in my state at the time. But after some cautious urging and well-measured assurances, I finally let him... hold my hand.

Gradually it got easier, but I had to work up the nerve to stand within a foot of Mr. Wilson and Dr. House. I got to the point where I didn't tremble quite so hard if Matt rested his head on my chest, though even after reaching that first major goal of letting him kiss me, I had to pull away after a bit to catch my breath – and it wasn't from being breathless with desire, much to my own chagrin.

Thankfully, Matt was remarkably patient with me – which could have added to some of my morbid paranoia about wanting to just die already, thinking maybe he'd be better off with some bloke who wasn't such a freaked-out mess as me. I jokingly tried to suggest it once, and the look of disgust I got made me wonder if – just maybe – that hopeful reason I'd painstakingly managed to come up with might be true. Whether it was or not, I _did_ feel a bit indulgently relieved to see his mortified reaction to my "joke" - enough to let him kiss me again without any feelings of revulsion.

My shuffling steps to the door were lazy, and I called out before I even reached it, "You don't have to knock every bloody day, ya know, how many times do I have to tell ya..."

But the words died on my lips as I finally reached for the handle and opened the door to reveal – not the cute little dark-haired nymph I'd been expecting, but – a slightly hesitant expression on a slightly whiskered face surrounded by short ginger hair.

"You sure 'bout that, eh?" Ben asked, knowing full well I hadn't meant that speech for him. "Y'might be surprised who pops in on ya then if your rules are that loose."

Immediately my heart felt like it had jumped into my throat, upon seeing those clear blue eyes peering back at me cautiously. And the first thing to leap to my mind, among all the worries and concerns over just what I was expecting to say to him after all that time, was the thought, _Matt. That scheming little cunt_...

But I bit my lip to keep from cursing out the absent dwarf, as my energy would have simply been wasted, and instead ducked my head shyly as I tried to process the fact that Ben was, in fact, right there in front of me.

My brain wasn't doing this very efficiently at all, considering we stood like that for a hair short of eternity in silence. I'd even forgotten the tiniest thing, like how to invite a friend inside instead of staring at my feet and wallowing in my own guilty conscience, at a complete loss for what to say, how to start anything. Ben must have felt the discomfort as well, as he didn't make any kind of move to indicate what I was supposed to do either. We were caught in a stalemate, neither wanting to be the first to make a wrong gesture, both too caught up in our own separate, private thoughts to figure out a plan to break the ice.

Finally, as if some saving grace, there was the sound behind me of someone else coming out to the foyer.

"Is that Matt?" Mr. Wilson asked over my shoulder, then let out a sudden start. "Ah! Someone new for a change! Hello, Ben."

Ben gave the obligatory shy nod and grunt of acknowledgment all teenagers seem to have for meeting instructors outside of a classroom environment. "Hi, Mr. Wilson."

"How's it goin'?" our teacher urged him as kindly as ever, either not taking notice of the invisible stony wall between us or not caring that it was there.

"Fine," Ben answered with another nod, his own eyes refusing to meet anyone else's despite the steady, level gaze Mr. Wilson had on him.

"Good, good..." There was a slight nudge from his elbow against my back as he encouraged me, "Are you gonna let the boy in, or do you guys prefer to hang around outside?"

I tried, finally, to get over the dumbfounded amnesia of how to greet a guest, and opened the door a little wider for him. "D'you... wanna come in?" I mumbled, nearly inaudible.

Ben hesitated again, but eventually found his way to stepping through the door, an uneasy but grateful smile sneaking out as he nodded once more to Mr. Wilson. "Thanks, yeah."

"Well, I don't know if you're hungry, Ben, but Greg – er, I mean, Dr. House has cooked up some excellent chili if you're up for it..."

Ben's usual immediate acceptance of any offered food was apparently overridden by the wide-eyed, stunned look on his face. "Dr. House... _cooks_?"

"Aye," I answered with a sly smirk, glad to have something to joke about. "It'll clean ya right out within two hours."

Ben winced, a hand hovering uncertainly over his belly. "Ehh... Sorry, think I'll have to pass on this one... but thanks..."

_Ben:_

It didn't take a genius to tell that something was different about him. It didn't even take someone who hadn't known him for half his life, so his body language alone screamed to me that something was very wrong.

Standing in his makeshift bedroom – an extra guest room on the first floor of the house Dr. House and Mr. Wilson shared – he lingered awkwardly by the closed door as I surreptitiously took in the sparse surroundings: an open suitcase of clothes on top of a set of drawers beside the bed, his textbooks and notebooks scattered over a small student desk in the corner by a window, news magazines and his usual dog-eared fantasy novels strewn over the unmade bed.

There was something strange about the place, and it wasn't the mysterious brown pill bottles lined up on top of the dresser with his other typical necessities, though they did make me pause and blink in startling realisation of what they meant: he was ill, in some way I didn't know of, ill enough to need medicine. But that wasn't what seemed strangest about this already odd set-up. Something was missing, I thought vaguely, something important, but I couldn't quite figure out what.

I didn't get too long to wonder about it, though, as he coughed shortly to compensate for his apparent lack of something to say. I turned to him then, struggling myself with what I was supposed to do, say, or even _think_. His timid demeanor was off-putting on its own, but the way his eyes darted around, glancing at me shyly before averting themselves again, it just wasn't something I could get used to – Simon was always the one to start a conversation, the one who broke the ice or smoothed things over, if only to make the people around him feel less uncomfortable. But this heavy atmosphere, this indescribable weight he seemed to carry around with him, it stripped him of any openness and congeniality he'd always been known for before. Now, it seemed as if _he_ were the one who was lost, stumbling to find his footing, even in just saying hello to one of his oldest and closest mates.

I couldn't stand it; this unintentionally quiet, anxious boy was not someone I knew, it wasn't _him_. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a complete stranger's most private space, and it wasn't very inviting. I wasn't sure of where to stand, what to do with my hands, if I was allowed to sit, or even breathe.

In a sorry attempt to take his usual position as the ice-breaker, I cleared my throat and tried to speak lightly, but it didn't come out quite as I'd wanted.

"Been a while, eh?"

Simon stared down at my feet, like he wanted to look at me but couldn't stand to meet my gaze.

"Aye, it has," he confirmed softly, his hands hidden behind his back as he leaned against the closed door.

So we both agreed on that much. Wonderful. Now what?

"...So... um..."

Finally, he exhaled a rush of air and his expression changed from clueless and nervous to apologetic. "Look, you really didn't have to come--"

And despite his words, just the sound of his voice was familiar enough to me to assure me that it was, indeed, still Si in that hunched frame that seemed to hold up the wall behind him.

"No, I wanted to," I told him, glad to have something to do with my hands as I dug around in my pockets for the envelope. "I mean, I... Well... I got this letter, see..."

A slightly bemused smirk curled his lips, another glimpse of a sign that he wasn't so changed that the Simon I knew was gone for good. "Let me guess – from Matt?"

"Um... yeah."

He let out a derisive scoff and held out his hand. "Figures. That scheming little git--"

"He said you wanted to see me," I protested, actually feeling a twinge of regret for holding a grudge against the spastic twerp all that time.

"Oh, did he, now?" Simon uttered, rolling his eyes as I handed him the letter. "I'll be sure to thank him for relayin' that message..."

Without even opening it, he tossed the note aside, as if disgusted.

All I could do, as he finally pushed away from the wall to slump on the edge of his borrowed bed, was stare down at the discarded letter on the floor, swallowing hard when I saw how uncaring he was about it. For some reason, that carelessness made a knot tighten in my chest.

"So... you didn't want to see me?" I asked, my voice strained.

"Hm?" Simon must have heard it too, because he quickly shook his head, his eyes wide with regret. "Well, no, it's not that I didn't... I just... I wasn't sure..." His fingers became like claws on his legs, clenching and bending sporadically as he searched for a suitable answer. "He must've taken some things I said the wrong way... or maybe _too_ right," he added in a bitter growl.

When he caught my surprised glance, he explained bashfully, "I dunno, he seems to be able to read me better than myself sometimes, but I guess that can happen to people when you... y'know... spend so much time together."

That caused the knot to wind tighter. I winced briefly as I glared down at my own trainers. They looked scuffed, ragged. I tried to distract myself from the panic by telling myself I needed new ones.

"`Together'... So... are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You and Matt... Are you..." I didn't want to say it But the word came out on its own. "...together now?"

He seemed to sense my dismay at hearing this bit of news, because he sounded just as reluctant to admit it.

"...Uh, yeah... Aye, we are."

I nodded slowly, my entire head, chewing my lower lip. "Ah... I see... So... So what we had, then... it's over, then, I take it?"

Simon let out a chuckle – but it sounded forced, timid... fearful.

"Aw, Ben, we... C'mon, mate. We didn't really have anythin', did we?"

But even as he tried to brush over the issue with such little hindrance, I could hear the lingering apology in his tone.

So I lifted my head again, looking him dead in the eyes, challenging his brisk declaration. "No?"

"No... Not really, like..." He lifted a shoulder, wilting under my intense glare.

"So call those times we spent together... doin' stuff... that was nothin' to you?" I pressed, my voice low... even though I really wanted to grab him, shake him, scream it into his face...

I suppose some of my urgency to keep this alive was getting through, or that maybe he knew he was having to stifle something himself – because when he spoke, his voice trembled slightly, holding _some_ kind of emotion in it, even if I couldn't identify it.

"Well, it wasn't... it wasn't _nothin'_, like... but we gotta be honest, don't we? It wouldn't have worked out between us--"

I stepped closer to him, barely reigning myself in from actually laying a hand on him. "Why d'you say that? Eh?" I demanded harshly. "So my feelings mean nothin', do they? You just _decide_ for me that I'm not `that way,' and that's it?" My voice rose a few decibels at the end, unintentionally, causing him to flinch and huddle back further from me.

"But you aren't – you've said it yourself--"

"None of that matters when it comes to you, okay!?" I nearly yelled, desperate to make him see my perspective. I hunched over a bit, trying to get him to look at me again, but he kept avoiding my gaze, shriveling from my obvious anger and frustration. "D'you see what I mean, Si? It's not... I don't care about all that political crap and labels and shit. I never did!"

He recovered some of his resentment and snapped, "Y'sure seemed to when you were confronted with it--"

"But I got stronger since then!" I pleaded, dropping to my knees in front of him and groping for his hands. To my shock, he gasped sharply, jerking back to break away from my touch – nearly crawling to the other side of the bed, in fact. At this unexpected and drastic reaction, I pulled back quickly, alarmed by how frightened he looked.

Once his rapid gasps slowed, I swallowed hard and went on huskily, "I'm not as afraid of it anymore as I... as I used to be... All I care about – all I _ever_ cared about was you. And now you tell me that's not real because you don't want to face it when _I'm_ being honest?"

He was pale, shaky, but his meaning was clear as he replied steadily, "Too little, too late, Ben – how's that for honest?"

The words froze me to my spot, my body rigid and ears not wanting to believe what they'd heard.

"...So is that how it is, then? You gonna make me pay for not acceptin' somethin' so unusual about meself straight away? I told ya, Si – I'm not like you, I'm not as sure or confident--"

Once more, he startled me with an indignant shout, "Who said I was confident!? If I knew who told ya that bloody sack a' shite, I'd hang him! If anything, I'm more fuckin' pathetic than ever now, ever since... well..." He trailed off uncertainly, his eyes squinting as he seemed to be holding something back.

I shook my head, clueless. "Since what?"

He shrugged again, rolling his eyes. "Y'know... stuff happened."

I racked my brain for anything other than the very obvious, but when I came up with nothing, I asked bluntly, "What, your mum? Mate, anyone would be shaken up--"

"No, not that," he sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead with trembling fingers. "Well, a little bit... but... no, that's not what I meant."

I leaned forward a little, felt like nudging him to keep going, but even as I rose from the ground, his body jolted sharply as if to try and get further away from me, so I kept my distance – whatever was controlling him, it didn't seem to be something he could get a handle on, and I didn't want to bring him anymore stress than he already was going through.

"Then what _do_ you mean?" I urged, since body language would get no response.

"You said Matt wrote you a letter, didn't you?" he reminded me, gesturing to the note still on the floor.

"Aye," I confirmed, and picked it up to hand to him. He paused when he saw it, took in my outstretched hand before him, and slowly reached up to then suddenly snatch it from my fingers.

As I puzzled more over his odd behaviour and stood above the bed, he unfolded the note from the envelope and scanned the messy writing quickly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Says you need to see me," I repeated, wondering what else he was expecting to find in the short, pleading message.

After he read it a second time, his hands fell into his lap, and his face changed from confused to surprised – and then to regretful.

"Oh... He didn't... He didn't tell you anythin'..."

"Anythin' 'bout _what!?"_ I yelped, having enough of his vagueness. "What are you on about!?"

A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth, like he was pleased about something I had no clue of. "Then you... You didn't know."

"Know _what!?_ Christ, you're like a fuckin' brick wall today or somethin', man, what's _with_ you?"

Simon lowered his head, shaking it so the dark locks in front of his eyes swayed briefly as he tucked the letter back into the envelope. "Mmm... No, it's just... It's nothin'... I guess I just... should've trusted him more..."

But that wasn't good enough for me – after all this bizarre bollocks, I was not about to let it go at that. "It sure as hell ain't nothin', now tell me what's goin' on!"

He kept his head low, though his eyes strayed upward to glance at me quickly before looking away again. "I... I can't talk about it right now, okay?"

Bloody hell; like I was going to be left in the dark _again_ after I'd come all this way – I stalked over and ripped the envelope out of his hands before he had a chance to react, throwing it aside and hollering, "No! It's not okay! I came here, didn't I? Don't you get that I'm worried? Why you avoidin' me? Or any of us, aside from Matt, for that matter? Are we not _good_ enough for you now or somethin'? What the fuck--"

"No," he whimpered softly, shivering when I got close again, turning his head away sharply. "It's not.... It's not what you think..."

"And what is it that _I_ think, Simon?" I snapped smartly. "Since you're so good at telling me how I feel, why wouldn't you know what I'm thinking, too, eh?"

He slumped back against the wall again, the hurt on his face as plain as day; at least I'd gotten him to the point where he couldn't hide it anymore, I thought – though I only felt half proud of my efforts... the other half of me felt like stuffin' a fuckin' fist in me own face.

"It's just... too hard to talk about right now," he said slowly, his voice hollow, somehow more sad than I remembered him sounding even at his mother's funeral. "I'm not ready--"

"So when _will_ you be ready?" I insisted blindly, though with much less ferocity this time. I crooked an eyebrow at him. "Too little, too late?"

He smirked vaguely, a weary expression of defeat coming over his features. "Maybe, aye... So you should just... keep on. Without me."

But when I heard him say that, with such obvious disdain for himself that even _I_ could pick it up from those few little words, my fury seemed to vanish – or, at least, change its form. I perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab at his arm, but he immediately flinched and jerked away again, hiding his face with his long hair.

"No, fuck that, Simon," I said lowly. "I won't let it go at that."

He completely took my meaning the wrong way and snapped in a steely tone, "You're gonna have to. I'm with Matt now, I don't want to talk about what happened, so if you can't deal with those facts, then you need to leave right now and forget about me."

There were all kinds of ways I could have reacted to that. Many of them I found appealing. Getting defensive and throwing back at him that he would have to deal with the fact that I still... _loved_ him. Getting pissy and throwing a fit, needing to know why I wasn't qualified to know what was going on. Breaking down and outright _begging_ him to take me back (whether "back" was an appropriate term or not). Grabbing him and forcing out of him everything he felt reluctant to tell me, even at the risk of hurting him. Or just accepting his suggestion – and walking out right there and then, forgetting everything that had happened up till then and going on with my life as if he hadn't ever insinuated himself in my heart.

What I found my body doing, however, was completely different from those options I'd quickly come up with. Before I knew it, I had grabbed the chair by his small desk and dragged it over to the bed, setting it about a foot away from the edge of the mattress. Then, I sat down. And I waited.

After some time, Simon found his voice again and asked timidly, "W-What're you doin'?"

"I don't know," I admitted blatantly. "I really don't. All I know right now is that... I ain't leavin'."

Simon stared at me, and while I thought he would roll his eyes, or laugh, or even just curse me out – instead, his eyes filled with inexplicable tears, leaving me wordless yet again.

"Ben..."

"I mean it," I blurted thoughtlessly, looking away quickly as I hunched over my lap. "Maybe I'll have a hard time acceptin' those `facts' of yours, but I'll be damned if I walk away from ya right now. So _you_ might as well get used to _me_ bein' here."

I could tell from my peripheral vision that his face contorted for a moment, as he struggled to get out, "I already said it's over between us--"

But I wouldn't let my own ego get in the way this time. "Aye," I sniped, bitter and begrudging, but not budging an inch either. "Fine. If that's what you need, all right. But I'm still your mate, and mates don't just walk out when things get tough. So 'till you're ready to tell me, fuckin' deal with it. I'll be here when you are."

He slumped back against the wall some more, and when I dared to take a look, he was staring up at the ceiling, trying to force a smile but failing, a grimace taking over instead.

"You stupid twat..." he murmured. And after another long silence, his strained voice reached my ears again: "I'm fucked, Ben. I'm just... fucked in the head. An' I really dunno... how to fix it this time..."

And that's when he told me. Everything. From getting drunk and stoned nearly every day since winter holidays, right up to his current problems with being touched by anyone. He was reluctant to start out at all, but after he got going, he wasn't able to stop himself, needing to be as explicit as possible with everything going on in his head. All I could do was sit there and watch him, seeing every minute shift in his expression as he told me, seeing just how torn up he was over all that had taken place. I couldn't decide what was the worst part of it, but probably the result of all that stress making him into the hopeless, confused _child_ he seemed then was most likely it. Seeing how messed up he was, how he cried over just mentioning past events, how he fretted and twisted his fingers together like a bloody kid when recounting his own actions and how nervous he got when describing things that had been done to him – it wasn't anything like the self-assured, jovial guy I'd always known. And the fact that he had no idea of how to get through any of it anymore, that's what made my own chest ache, seeing him like this and not knowing what I could do for him either.

And when he finished the whole bloody story and sat there limply, looking every bit like the lifeless shell he claimed to be by now, something occurred to me quite suddenly – so suddenly that I sat up straight and, after a long, heavy silence, asked randomly, "Dr. House plays music, don't he?"

Understandably, Simon's stare in my direction was utterly stunned; he'd just told me some of his darkest secrets, his life-altering traumas, and I was asking _that?_

He blinked several times before stammering, "Um... Y-Yeah, a bit..."

And before he could get out another word, I darted out of the room, not even considering the thought that he might be offended by my immediate apparent dismissal of him.

But minutes later, when I returned to the bedroom, he understood completely when I hauled the decades-old acoustic number with me and shoved it at him as he remained sitting like an invalid on the bed.

"Here," I ordered sternly. "You been missin' somethin', awright. Now do what you always do and break my fuckin' heart."

I didn't quite know what I meant by that, but the words just came out; and somehow, Simon seemed to understand better than I did. So while I sat there with him – when he finally relented and allowed me onto the bed beside him – he played quietly, while we exchanged softly uttered sentiments and assurances to each other. He may have been with Matt, and that may have made me crumble and die a little inside whenever I repeated it to myself; and he may have been through hell and wasn't sure if he could mend – but, damnit, the boy played beautifully, and somehow I didn't feel ashamed to shed tears over that.

_Matt:_

So I'd gone and done something behind Simon's back without telling him, big deal.

I told that to myself numerous times, yet when I went to visit the next day after classes, I was still nervous that he would be upset with me.

So how surprised was I to find him in strangely better spirits than usual that day? _Very_. But it was a good sign, I thought, so I went along with him to the dining room and had dinner with him and his "foster" parents, trudging through yet another of Dr. House's culinary massacres with what I felt was a stoic exterior.

And not a mention was made of my little secret nudge to Ben to get the two of them speaking again. Though I kept my mouth shut during the meal (metaphorically and an attempt at physically, but Dr. House wouldn't allow that), I did worry a bit that the bad part was coming later. So I let myself enjoy the contentment for as long as I felt I could get away with.

After dinner, I joined Simon in his room, as usual, and with the door closed, we felt more at ease to lounge on the bed and – after some initial hesitations and shifts of position – enjoy some simple "snuggle" time. Even Simon mumbled that "snuggling" wasn't exactly a flattering term for it, but I chalked it up to a _man_ being too _masculine_ about what was really going on, even if he couldn't quite let himself get to any other point beyond just this for the time being. Still, he insisted, it sounded too "cutesy."

Fuck him; we _snuggled, _damnit!

As I laid my head on his chest and he let his arm relax around my shoulders, I peered around the room and took in a deep breath, noticing that something about the place seemed a little different. It was subtle, but meaningful, I thought; I just couldn't put my finger on what it was that had changed.

And then I saw the guitar set against the side of the desk, and I pointed to it.

"Ah, stealing Dr. House's instruments now, are you?" I teased. "No wonder you're in such a good mood today."

Simon chuckled and flicked the back of my head. "No, it was Ben's idea. Said maybe playin' again will help me figure things out, or at least calm me down enough to think straight."

"Ah," I repeated, nodding faintly at the brief mention of the name. I cleared my throat, knowing we were bound to get to it eventually. "So... Ben came by, then, did he?"

"Aye," Simon said, drawing out the word in such a sarcastic manner that, not only did he manage to make it multiple syllables, but also conveyed his knowledge of my coy little set-up. "Thanks for that, by the way," he added, and flicked my head again.

Of course, the best course of action to take in this scenario is quite obvious: blatant (therefore unbelievable) evasion. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?"

"Common sense," he replied abruptly. "Anyway..." His tone changed then, slipping from taunting to heartfelt within a second. "No, um... Thank you. Really. I _do_ mean it."

I grinned stupidly to myself and rubbed my cheek against his chest, glad to have not gotten chewed out – but then again, I reminded myself, his irritation could show itself in other ways as well... so I was fully expecting some kind of blown-up ridiculing to be coming my way.

"Oh good," I went on despite this knowledge. "So it wasn't a complete waste of energy?"

"No, not at all – in fact, not only did he get me playin' again, but we've also discussed it at length, and we both agree: we've decided you should be our idol."

At this, I lifted my head slightly and peered up at him, eyes full of reluctant caution. "Oh no. I'm afraid to ask, but... _what?"_

He gave me that smile that meant he'd been thinking this up all day and was ready to lay it on me – if only to piss me off, or confuse me (which usually pisses me off anyway). "Well, surely you're gonna ask what we talked about, so I thought I'd get a head start and just tell you up front that we're starting our own religion."

The sigh escaped me even before he finished speaking. "Oh God..."

"No," he corrected crisply, "_my_ God. See, I suggested you bein' the idol we worship, what with your ways of working miracles like gettin' Ben to come over here an' gettin' me to talk to him, but Ben thought of someone else who could possibly carry that responsibility with a bit more dignity and class. I tried to protest, honest I did, but his argument for the baboon was quite compelling."

My dull stare up into his happily cheerful face didn't deter him one bit.

"But now, I dunno, maybe I can use this fodder of you sneakin' 'round in others' lives for good, make it seem like we have a god that _does_ work miracles that are visible, eh? Whaddya think? Wanna be my god?"

After some more flat glaring, which had no effect whatsoever on the bemused smirk on his face, I finally resorted to whacking him over the head. "You naive fool!" I scoffed indignantly. "I _am_ your god!"

"That's what I thought," he nodded, as if not even feeling the blow. "And, y'know, even if he says no, we could probably get it by him without him noticin', if you just keep it up with the bananas and your secret feces fetish--"

I lurched grotesquely in place, whining, "Awww _maaaaan_, why'd you have to go there!?"

"Yeah," he continued, deaf to my pleas, "just fling some poo at him, he'll think you're his heaven-sent baboon!"

I groaned and sank my head to his chest again, hiding my face. "Sometimes I wonder why I let you touch me at all."

"_You're_ the one flingin' poo, man! _I'm_ the one who should be worried!"

Which brought us back to another topic I'd been hoping to breach for some time... Perhaps it was a bit cruel to bring it up, especially when he was in such a good mood, but maybe I was feeling a little bitchy from being compared – unfavorably – to a friggin' _baboon_. So I felt my revenge was justified.

My fingers splayed over his stomach, I coyly gave him a slight tickle and uttered to him, "Ummm, actually, as things are, you really have no reason to be worried."

He lifted his own head slightly and looked down at me, furrowing his brow. "Eh? What's that about?"

I ducked my head, pretending to be shy about it as I drew my hand up further to his chest, tugging lightly at his shirt. "Well, it's somethin'... I didn't know if I should bring up again... Didn't know if you'd, like... wanna talk about it..."

But, as usual, Simon destroyed my intricately laid plans with what could have been either sly cunning – or downright vile stupidity.

"You want me to fling back?"

I clenched my hand into a fist and pounded on his chest – as pathetic as that blow really was....

"No! You idiot!" I hollered in annoyance. "Would you get your mind out of poo already!"

He grimaced openly, mocking me, "Oh, now, that's just _gross_, Bells."

I smacked his chest again, this time with an open hand. "You know what I mean! This isn't about shit, okay?"

"No? Well, I dunno if I wanna talk about anything else now, though. Ever have one of those dumps where you know it came out of you, but you can't see it in the bowl?"

This was the man I was madly in love with?

I sat up on the bed and hung my head in my hands. "For baboon's sake, will you _please_ stop talking about your bowel movements!?"

"Or what about when there are a few floaters that just won't go down? That's kinda freaky, if you ask me--"

"Eat more fiber then! And shut up about it! This is hardly cuddle conversation!"

Simon tilted his head to the side, _tsk_ing at himself and giving me that adorable puppy face that begged me to hug him some more. I tried to resist it – but before I knew it, I was sliding back down beside him.

"But it makes me feel better..."

I scoffed again, clearly pouting as I pointed out, "That excuse is getting older than Dr. House."

"Aye," he grinned, tightening his arms around me. "But it always works."

Bloody prick. Of _course_ it did.


	25. Chapter 25

Title: Lesson 25 – How To Rekindle A Dying Flame

Rating/Warnings: NC-17, graphic slash, fluff, language. Pre-revision.

Feedback: is well-cum!

Disclaimer: I own no one in here. If I did, I'd have 'em do this every night for my entertainment. Alas, that thought is as true as the fictional story within these paragraphs. Oh woe is me.

A/N: This ending seems a bit abrupt, but truthfully I hadn't quite intended it to end like this - I just stopped writing it. But in a way, it kind of speaks for itself. The road to recovery is long and hard, but at least he knows now he's got people there to go with him.

Dr. House:

It was such an obvious ploy from the first moment he peered at us, straight-faced, and asked if he could spend the night over that weekend. He'd even waited for an opportunity when Simon was out of the room, like some sneaking, scheming, over-eager _man_ asking a father's permission for his daughter's hand in marriage. Nevermind that that tradition was dustier than the crap guitar Ben had nicked from me. The fact that he dared to ask us both – over the dinner table, no less – at the same time, and so innocently, as if neither of us suspected that children of their age had never heard about sex, or same-sex couples (_us!_)... Like we didn't know what they got up to when they went into Simon's room and closed the door...

I immediately – inexplicably – became the shotgun-wielding father figure when Matt proposed this idea while Simon was in the loo, no matter how earnest his eyes were, or how anxiously he gnawed on his lip. I gripped my utensils in my hands until my knuckles started turning white, while Jim had actually dropped his onto his plate, causing a clacking, noisy racket. But at least I could be sure that we were on the same page about this one – I could picture his stunned, absurd expression without even looking over at him... which was impossible, really, as i was too busy shredding Matthew's wide-eyed, cherubic face to pieces with my mind...

So I nearly fell out of my chair when, after an eternity of awkward silence, I heard Jim reply reasonably, "I don't see why there would be a problem with it. I think we can arrange that, if Simon's okay with it, of course."

Suddenly, the death glare I had set on Matthew turned to rest accusingly on my own lover. Had _he_ just approved of this ridiculous idea – without even look to me _once!?_

When Simon returned to the table and Jim casually brought up Matt's request, the boy looked a little less shocked than either of us had reacted, but still a bit startled. After a faltering moment and an impressed glance toward Matt – probably shocked that the twitchy little nerd had had the guts to ask something so blatantly transparent as this – Simon shrugged nonchalantly and answered, "Cool."

So much for hoping his recent paranoia would reject any attempt to get that close to him.

Later, as the boys were doing God knows what in Simon's room (probably picking out fancy toys to bring to bed with them that Friday night), I stood beside Jim as he washed the dishes and just _glared_, until the cunt finally acknowledged my displeasure over this turn of events and sighed heavily, not even turning to look at me.

"Before you even start, let me just say this, Greg," he began, careful not to drop the ceramic plate in this hands. "Don't you think this was pretty much inevitable? They've already been together before, so we _know_ they're sexually active with each other – so don't even pull the `too young' argument with me – you remember what you and I were doing at sixteen years old?"

"Doesn't mean we have to sit back and _let_ it happen in our own home," I muttered under my breath, but he ignored my whining.

"I think it's a good thing that they're sticking together on this. These two are almost _eighteen_ by now, and with all that's happened, I sincerely doubt anything catastrophic could occur--"

"That's exactly it," I snapped bitterly, not holding back the bile from my tone. "Forget all the age shit and whether or not we're being responsible adults by allowing this to happen right under our noses. I truly couldn't care less about that – if it were anyone else. But this _isn't _anyone else, Jim, and that's precisely the problem. _Because _of all that's happened, don't you think even the slightest little thing _could_ turn into something catastrophic? It's too bloody soon for him, from a professional standpoint _and_ a personal one. Adult women who've been raped _once_ sometimes can't get over it after more than a year! With their own husbands! Now, I know what kids get up to, especially gay kids who find it difficult to find _anyone_ else who feels the same way they do, let alone someone else they _like_. I'm not naive, it's not like I was surprised to hear either of them knew where to stick it in the first place.

"But that kid isn't sure of his boundaries yet! He's still just carving them out now, _learning_ how to find them. If Matt pushes too far and he doesn't stop him--"

Jim finally switched his eyes to me, a wry smirk on his face. "Oh please – he's turned down enough meals _you've_ attempted to create by now to lead me to believe that he's getting used to the word `no.'"

I scowled at him, folding my arms over my chest furiously. "This isn't the same thing, Jim – this is his... his _boyfriend_ we're talking about – his _lover!_ It's a lot more difficult to say no to someone you have feelings for, and yes, I'll admit openly that the kid's got strong feelings for Matt. That's exactly what could be detrimental--"

"And _that_," he cut in as he shut off the taps and turning to me, poking a finger into my chest, "is exactly why we should step out of the way in this situation."

I stared at him blankly, shaking my head. "What the hell're you--"

But he only gave me a cryptic smile, flicking my loosened tie carelessly. "You don't have enough hope in him, House. In either of them. I know what you see when you look at them: you see two juveniles with no clue; good hearts, but no clue. You don't think they can handle something like this – you don't really think either of them knows what it's like to love someone else. To help take care of them. I don't see them like that. And after all the years we've known Simon, I'm surprised _you_ haven't seen it in him – it's the same thing I see in Matthew."

I gave him my best challenging face and asked smartly, "And what do _you_ see, then?"

He dried his hands on the dish towel and tossed it aside, answering poignantly, "I see... _us."_

Matt:

Of course Simon knew what I was up to. But the fact that he didn't protest was a positive sign, so I went with it. Dr. House obviously tried to spoil the plan multiple times before that Friday night, and when he failed in his attempt to cleverly sneak a monkey wrench into it by claiming Simon had an early appointment on Saturday (which Mr. Wilson toppled by reminding him it wasn't until one in the afternoon), he went in for the kill Thursday evening during dinner, with a pointedly asked, "So where's Matt going to sleep? The couch in the living room is quite comfortable, though if he insists on staying in the same room, I suppose I could dig out an old sleeping bag..."

Luckily, Mr. Wilson was prepared to be just as blunt about it as Simon was, unlike me and Dr. House, who kept hinting at things without coming out with our true meanings directly.

"He'll probably sleep in the bed with Simon," Mr. Wilson deduced simply, without any melodrama. "I mean, they _are_ lovers; it makes sense, don't you think?"

Dr. House seemed as appalled by the blatant disregard of hedging around a questionable subject, but Simon barely put up a fuss either.

"Aye, no need to go to all that trouble. We fit fine together on the one mattress."

So, with the unformed argument clearly favouring us at three to one, Dr. House was left speechless, any more protests apparently dying on his lips as Mr. Wilson started cleaning up the dinner table before anything else could come from the doctor's frowning mouth.

So I wasn't being refused this opportunity after all – not even by Simon's request. Yes, things certainly looked promising for me – though I had to admit a dreadful sensation filled me when I caught the doctor giving me the evil eye across the table. I avoided his searing gaze, then, by offering to help Mr. Wilson with cleaning up the remainder of the meal, successfully excusing myself from that heated glare.

Well, it's not like I was totally in the bloke's good books anyway.

After another typical dinner at the teachers' house on Friday night, then (albeit with more than his fair share of dirty looks thrown my way by Dr. House), Simon and I holed up in his room to "hang out" for a bit before bed. Mr. Wilson had already informed my RA that I was allowed this privilege by himself (and, grudgingly, Dr. House), so I didn't have to concern myself with being back before curfew. I'd also had the foresight to bring my guitar along (not to mention other necessities for later), as well as Simon's, since the old acoustic one he'd been "borrowing" from Dr. House was prone to slipping out of tune with a passing breeze. Despite Dr. House's concerns – and his frequent excuses to interrupt whatever _dirty_ activities he was certain were going on – Simon and I merely spent a few hours jamming away innocently.

Since becoming involved so thoroughly with his recovery, in addition to rehearsing for the upcoming drama production, I hadn't had many opportunities to just sit down and _play_, so I felt a little rusty at first. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to have been playing continuously since the day Ben had shoved the instrument back into his capable hands. He admitted shyly that he had even been "messing around" whilst making up schoolwork, needing to get his extra anxious energy out in some way during the long days cooped up in the house. (Thankfully, both of our instructors who were overseeing this were tolerant enough to allow it, especially when they realised he seemed to concentrate better when he had something in his hands to fiddle with.)

We both played well enough, and he had played with mates before, but this was the first time we'd ever jammed together, just the two of us – not counting the times when he'd been showing me a few things himself.

Contrary to my own embarrassment, however, he noted kindly that I seemed to be getting better – perhaps that I would even surpass _him_ soon. I snickered over the thought, yet the feeling of proud satisfaction was enough to make me feel giddy; he may have had his rather scathing opinions about my acting abilities, but at least he was complimentary toward me about this.

It was well past midnight when he finally gave up trying to distract me from my true mission – though he'd seemed fine with it when it had first been proposed (in only so many words, mind), I suppose the reality of it in that moment was a bit more nerve-wracking than he'd expected it to be. I didn't mind the "distraction" overall, but he silently knew of my true intention of wanting to stay over, I was sure.

So when he suggested, "Want to change into your jammies now?" it was with a slightly teasing lilt to his voice.

I only gave him a sly little look before responding dryly, "Why bother, when I'm already planning to have them off in a few minutes?"

At my sudden daring, he had to laugh, but didn't protest as he shut out the lights and climbed under the duvet with me – though he _did_ fail to undress himself, despite my own careless disposal of my clothes.

I felt a bit awkward like that at first, lying naked next to him whilst feeling the familiar soft silk of his black button-down against my skin. But at least, I thought, he let me curl against him as I was, without acting disgusted or repulsed.

After a time, I registered that it was actually... a bit _sweet_, how he felt so vulnerable, yet trusted me so much to be with me like that, simply enjoying the peace as we laid together on the bed and allowing me to embrace him.

But perhaps I'd let myself wander down that dangerous path of hoping for too much too soon. He stayed on his back for a while, gazing up at the ceiling as I watched the dim light shining through the window reflected in his eyes. He easily let me rest on his shoulder, my body just barely nestled against his own as I settled a hand on his chest. I dared to lift my head slightly, nuzzling his jawline gently while my fingers flexed over his shirt. He even smiled a little and bent his head to catch my lips with his in a small, quaint, chaste kiss a few times.

But when that routine felt like it was dragging on for a bit too long, I tightened my fingers in his shirt and tugged at him, urging him to turn on his side to face me. Eventually he relented, and when he came down lower to eye-level with me, I tried to convey all my thinly-veiled longing to him with just my eyes. Though he still smiled faintly, there was a look of apologetic reluctance on his face as well, as if he knew that I'd been expecting something more, but that this was all he could muster at the time.

Without thinking too hard on it, I launched myself toward him then, unwittingly forcing a much hungrier kiss upon him than he'd been expecting. His eyes popped open wide, but a moment later, they drooped to half their size, and as I continued easing my tongue into his mouth, my hand now a fist on his chest, he closed them completely and even let a small sound of pleasant surprise seep from his throat.

Trembling ever so slightly, a warm hand slid over my torso, gradually finding its way to my hip to hold onto me as I shifted minutely to deepen the kiss further. I heard a slow, long inhalation and felt the steady rise of his chest as he slid his other arm underneath me, the silk of his sleeve a nice enticement on my skin – but still not exactly a substantial substitute for his own warmth. Unclenching my fingers from his shirt, I let them drift instead to the buttons, slowly undoing them one after another, until I was finally able to run the tips over smooth skin – feeling the racing heart inside pounding madly, though I wasn't certain if it was from desire or fear. But the fact that he was kissing me back with just as much fervor as I'd instigated it gave me enough encouragement to press more firmly into him, flattening my palm under his opened shirt and gliding my hand upwards.

His quickening breaths and the increasing pressure on my hip seemed to be positive signs as well; and when I felt his fingertips – now callused from his constant guitar practice – trail up the length of my spine, I groaned softly at the tingling sensation that rippled through my belly, just from his simple but earnest touch, shooting straight to my groin. I was almost embarrassed when my cock seemed to jolt to life, but he wasn't laughing at me at all – when he felt the disturbance against his leg, his hand at my hip loosened, trailing down lower to tease me by brushing over my thigh instead – almost, but not _quite_ touching my hardening cock, playfully urging me on with now slitted eyes boasting a very sly – and alluring – glint.

The recognition of that shine sparked a thrilling confirmation in me that all was going perfectly well again – and in my heightened state of arousal, I completely ignored any past signals to watch for, and blindly went about groping higher for his shoulder. At the same time, I broke the thorough kiss – with an unintentional wet, smacking sound – and delved for his throat, my hand just meeting the underside of my own chin as I miscalculated and plunged both my mouth _and_ hand right for his neck.

Just as my reflex caused my fingers to clasp him when my lips met flesh, his own switched on simultaneously, and the sharp lurch of his toned arms was strong enough to shove me back into the wall – as startling to me as the wordless start that exploded from his mouth.

Barely a second later, Simon gasped and came back to himself, sitting up and reaching for me.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, sounding as spooked as I figured he was. "I – I didn't... didn't mean to – are you all right?"

Despite the bruised ego and a slightly spinning head from the shove, however, I was quite all right – just a bit more wary as I smiled back. "Fine. I'm fine, really," I repeated when he tried to take my chin in a hand to check if he'd hit me.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he babbled in a panic. "I just lashed out, y'know, didn't mean to push--"

"No, no, no," I assured him in a rush, pulling his hands down from my face. "It's okay, Si, I get it. I wasn't watching meself, that's all – I should... I should know better than to... well," I chuckled, raising my eyebrows, "_I_ was the one bein' a bit pushy, wasn't I?"

He sat back on his heels, worrying at his lower lip sullenly. "No, you were fine," he said softly, staring down at his now limp hands, seeming deflated. "You... You didn't do nothin'... unusual... It's just me," he sighed, and a morose tone overtook his voice as he slumped onto the pillow and covered his face with his hands. "I'm just fucked, I guess. Can't even take somethin' as simple as this..."

I could already feel him withdrawing from me. That cold, lonely air that lingered over the hopeless, it drowned out any facade he'd been attempting to keep alive for my sake. He couldn't even look at me, and that in itself shook me to the point of hesitance to move or say anything else.

But after a few long, quiet moments of this disappointment, I felt something else rekindling inside of me. Maybe it was the vision of him lying there, completely apathetic and given up and submitting to his fears, which challenged me to continue on anyway – that stubborn streak he and Dr. House, even his father, had commented on before. I wasn't about to let him be defeated and forget about it so easily.

Carefully, I reached for his hands, and with a gentle, soothing touch, I coaxed them away from his face. As I leaned closer over him, he peered up at me with large, moist eyes – but I wouldn't let those tears escape, I promised him silently as I hovered lower and softly brushed my lips over his. He blinked at me, startled by my daring, but maybe that element of surprise was what kept him from stopping me.

"It's all right," I whispered, my breath flowing over his slack lips warmly. "I promise. You're safe now. With me, you're always safe."

And with this simple oath, he seemed content to let me continue nuzzling him – slowly, mindfully, with barely a sound as I kissed his chin, my fingertips brushing daintily over his exposed chest. Several heartbeats fluttered beneath my touch before he lifted an arm to embrace me again, his head barely rising from the pillow to catch my mouth in a sweet, timid kiss. I felt the quiver of his breath over my skin, his hand resting on my bare shoulder in a question, and I pressed further into him, forming a solid bond between our bodies from that nervous gesture.

As I slipped back against his side, Simon inhaled deeply; I felt his belly clench tightly as I dropped a hand there to hold him, which must have been a response of pleasure rather than fear, as his grip on my shoulder increased in certainty. I lingered over him for another languid kiss, bending a leg to drape over both of his whilst inching myself closer to his center. He paused to swallow thickly and I slid both hands to his shoulders, slipping the thin silk material over well-defined shoulders and caressing them smoothly with my palms. My slow, luxurious seduction of small, intermittent kisses over his chin, mouth and cheeks must have worked, because he just barely groaned aloud when I shifted my hips further, slithering the remainder of my body over his until I was straddling him fully. My fingers still pressing and kneading his flesh over hardened shoulder muscles, I lowered my head gradually until – to the thrilling sound of a soft but all together different sort of gasp than before – he bent his head back and, trembling slightly, allowed me to nuzzle his sensitive throat.

I could feel him swallow again, but the steadying breaths he took around it signaled to me that he was content – a rather large step for him, as he'd become unusually paranoid about that area since being choked so brutally. It was obviously a very understandable phobia – but one which he had now fully entrusted to me, as I trailed the tip of my tongue up and down the side of his throat to elicit a newly aroused shiver from him. To be safe, I kept my hands lower, only dragging them down to rest on his chest as I teased him with my mouth – lips and tongue and teeth all interchanging with each other to make him remember how good it could feel to let someone that close again.

I was so intent on breaking this particular fear of his that I almost didn't notice the warm, strong hands on my hips, but now the firm fingers clenched and flexed around them, and I felt him tugging me to his own in a painfully slow, drawn-out gesture. Whilst my ever-active pair of hands traced patterns over his chest and fiddled playfully with his sensitive nipples, pinching and rubbing and twisting the bar through his left nub (he'd switched it from the hoop months before, though sadly I had not been present during the change), his led my body into a hypnotising rhythm, as he moved my hips for me to rub enticingly against the coarse material of his jeans. Cruel but sweet at the same time, the rough texture of the clothes only accented how smooth and flowing his touch and actions were.

Until I began to feel like I was being cheated. Then I took control again, and, careful to nudge away from his neck slowly first, so as not to startle him, I slithered my way down the length of his long legs – taking the shirt with me as I did, as well as leaving a trail of butterfly kisses from his neck to his belly.

He tensed again when I reached for the fly of his jeans, lifting his torso and head to peer down at me from where he was propped on his elbows. But as soon as I saw the sporadically blinking eyes on me, I pressed a tender kiss to the star tattoo on one of his hips, reminding him in a hushed voice, "You're okay, babe, you're with me." I switched to the opposite star and smiled up at him shyly. "You're doing great," I assured him with another kiss, and massaged his hip gingerly. "No worries, I promise."

With another staggering breath, he nodded faintly, but didn't move to lie down again. But he also didn't protest as I undid his jeans this time, even shifting to accommodate me as I tugged them down and slid them off entirely. Now we were on the same level ground – though I _was_ still the one hovering over his now bare figure.

Despite his self-consciousness and whatever anxiety he had about being intimate, it didn't entirely keep him from being aroused; he was almost as hard as I'd become after dry-humping for however long he'd had me in that tedious position. But I kept my attention mostly on his face, which watched me back intensely as I carefully eased his toned legs apart to kneel between them. He tried to level a heated gaze onto me, but it was a tad unsteady – so instead of jumping right into what I _really_ wanted to do, I crouched on my hands and knees in front of him and leaned in for another deep, lingering kiss, if only to calm his nerves.

This seemed to work, and I felt him relaxing little by little beneath me, his fingertips dancing lightly over my ribcage when I finally pulled back to sink into my former position. His eyes were darker now, regarding me with an almost lazy stare as I lowered my head to his warming cock and took him into my mouth.

When my tongue started lapping hungrily over the length of him, from base to tip and back again, his body gradually started tensing again – but in a different fashion than before. I glanced up furtively to see his eyes roll back and close before his head drooped as well, a hot and heavy sigh rushing out when I tightened my lips and started to actually suck. His stomach clenched and a weak grunt escaped him as I continued working at him, my fingers circling as well and pumping his initially warm, half-hard member into a stiff, throbbing, full erection. My free hand wound around his thigh, tickling the underside of it, just below his arse as his hands clenched in the sheets beneath him and his gasps became harsher, more frequent. Despite his closed eyes, he seemed to be well enough assured that he was with me and safe in his mind, so I let mine drift shut as well, relishing the taste of the man in my mouth and the knowledge that I was finally able to give him some kind of pleasure again – something he hadn't quite felt in a long time, from the glimpse of almost _painful_ relief etched on his gorgeous face I'd seen the moment I started.

But, much as I loved sucking him off, I wasn't about to let it all end within a few moments – even if he was a little "backed up," so to speak, I didn't want our first time back together to just be a dinky little blowjob. (Not that _he_ would have called it that, but, well, I was planning on breaking more than just _one_ of his fears that night.)

So, after I let him slip into such a comfortable state that he allowed his head to drift back to the pillow, his torso and shoulders relaxing against the mattress and his breaths coming slow and steady, I moved back up to his waist, leaning over the side of the bed to dig around in the bag I'd left there for a condom and lube.

So far all our tests had come back clean for everything, a bit of luck neither of us took for granted, but after a good long one-on-one lecture from Dr. House, which I'm sure he'd given to Simon as well separately, I wasn't about to make another silly slip like that again. It wasn't that we hadn't been aware of the dangers before that, we'd just been careless. Not thinking. But the thought of the doctor's sneering mouth barking at me that I was being a "useless idiot" for being so naive was not the best feeling in the world. So it may have been a little embarrassing to buy it all on my own, but I would have rather had the occasional knowing smirk from a stranger at the register than to see that condescending glare from _him_ again.

When I sat back up on the bed, setting the lube aside for a moment to open the condom, Simon's eyes winked open and he focused on my fumbling hands.

"W-What're you--"

But I silenced him by leaning forward to kiss him again, and after a slight moment of surprise, he let it go and instead reached up to draw his fingers gingerly over my ribcage, apparently not much bothered by my weight on top of him. I finally managed to get the thing out of the wrapper, and broke the kiss to sit back on his legs, eying him up breathlessly.

He must have figured it out by then, because when he felt me clasping his hardness with confident – if a little shaky – fingers, he dropped his arms to his sides and let me do as I pleased, watching with a languid but curious gaze. As I carefully unrolled the material over him, brushing smoothly over the heated flesh with purpose, his stomach muscles clenched again, whilst a sweet, soft sigh quivered over his lips. I caught his gaze with my own and gave a small smile, and though he didn't return it, his eyes shone brightly now in the dimness of the room.

I slathered a generous handful of lube over him then, and he had to close his eyes again and gulp down a groan as one of my hands stroked him repeatedly, stoking the fire already raised in his groin. I couldn't resist drawing this process out a bit more either, hearing the unusually delicate whimper building in the back of his throat as I teased and coaxed his already throbbing cock with various speeds and pressure – all whilst applying the same treatment to myself with my other hand. But when I felt his hips trying to buck beneath me, and his hands reached to grope for me, I slowed both my hands and shifted just enough to lift myself above his aching cock.

It had definitely been a while. I took it slowly, almost completely forgetting about my cautious preoccupation with him, as I was focused too much on my _own_ comfort now. Holding my breath, I eased the tip in as gently as possible – but it still made me cringe and bite my lip. After a painful – and painfully _slow_ – entrance, I continued on, having to _force_ myself down lower, inch by inch, until his cock was almost halfway inside of me. I let out the breath I'd been holding, my head hanging over my chest and eyes scrunched shut in anguish – not even the sound of his trembling moan was hot enough to distract me at first, and I began to panic in my head: what if this just wasn't possible? What if we couldn't go through with it, not because of _his_ fears, but because of_ me?_

But then I felt his hands on me – warm and reassuring, grasping my hips tenderly as his fingers caressed me encouragingly. He shifted his hips ever so slightly, and with a momentary hitch of my breath, my muscles just melted around him. Seconds passed and I felt my body's tension seeping away, as his touch drifted from my waist and legs to my back and belly, soothing all the pain into a thick, pleasurable calm. I felt myself sliding down on him, felt him penetrating me deeper, and the gasp that came out of me felt like it was stretching me backward, pulling my chin upward as my hips when the opposite way, and Simon's hands tightened sharply on me as an almost shrill cry ripped from his throat.

I swallowed thickly and lowered my head, hunching over his now damp chest as I paused to catch my breath and tried to get used to the feeling of this again. And when I looked down at him, I saw his eyes wide open, staring up at me with an uninhibited passion in them, his mouth open as he panted and tried to move his lips to form words.

Instantly, I remembered his possible troubles, as if they'd been erased from my mind the second I'd felt an ounce of pain, only to be re-injected moments later with the _true_ dilemma here. I blinked quickly and whispered, "You all right? You still with me? Stay with me, babe, okay? Did I – Did I do something wrong--"

But Simon's hands on my back drew me down closer, and he shook his head vehemently, heaving in a rush, "_God_, no – don't... don't stop... Oh, Matt, I want... I want you--"

But he cut himself off by grabbing me by the back of the head and pulling me down, his mouth engulfing mine in one of his (almost trademarked) powerful, overwhelming snogs that made my insides dance around in giddy euphoria as his tongue stroked and swept over my own in a nearly possessive fashion. I moaned into him as I unintentionally swiveled my hips, and the sensation inside of me was completely different than the searing discomfort from before. I heard my own low voice creeping up to a muffled whine, and his deeper, huskier tone responded in agreement that my natural, non-thinking movements were just right. One hand still tangled in my hair, his other swept down the length of my spine, coming to rest on my arse as he led – or maybe he followed, I couldn't tell anymore – me into a rocking, alluring rhythm, until we were moving together on our own, and he slipped to my front to embrace my own weeping erection in his palm.

A particularly sharp gasp escaped me when I felt the delicious pressure, and I broke the enthralling kiss to lean my head back again, followed by a series of uncontrolled whimpers and hiccups as his hand pumped my straining cock, all whilst I rode him thoroughly, deeply, utterly aware of every inch of him inside me. My hands planted on his chest, I squeezed his muscles pleadingly and relished the sensation of his heart pounding against my palm. I became lost in the rhythm of it, a fog of euphoria drifting through my mind, as if on the verge of losing consciousness, but sweeter – and I vaguely wondered if this was what drowning was like; if this could be what was called drowning in someone else? And if so, I couldn't think of a more exquisite way to go.

Simon lifted his head from the pillow as I continued riding him, nuzzling my exposed throat and moaning to me wordlessly of his pleasure, and the sound of it in my ears again, knowing I could feel this lovely whilst at the same time making _him_ feel good, was thrilling, edging my arousal even further toward ecstasy.

With his arm around my waist, urging me on as he rocked his hips up into me with every thrust, I found myself babbling again – breathless little gasps of worthless words that trickled out of my slack mouth, but he seemed to love hearing them, my whispers of how good he felt inside of me and how utterly I adored him...

But no – they weren't worthless. Even if I couldn't keep track of what I was saying, I knew whatever came out was pure honesty – for a lifetime or just that moment, it didn't matter. I meant every silly syllable, and even more passionately as his body urged me on toward that release.

And when it finally came, his hand working expertly at drawing it out into a long, heart-wrenching experience that easily topped either time we'd been together before, I could barely suppress my cry of relief, ducking my head low to his neck and muffling my voice against his skin. But I was still riding high when he fell back into the pillows a few minutes later, clutching my hips fiercely as he plunged into me one final time as he came, a groan much like my own echoing into my ear beside his mouth.

And as his muscles went slack and his arms draped around me wearily, his breaths still coming fast and heavy, I lifted my head from his neck and looked down at his closed eyes, kissing them softly in turn as he smiled.

"Th-That's... a new one," he huffed, his chest heaving with the effort to speak.

I cuddled down closer to his chest, carefully easing his spent cock from my body as I did so, and planted a few light kisses over his collar bone.

"It's just nice to see that," I remarked in a soft voice, a smile toying at my own lips.

"See... whu?"

"You." I nudged his chin with my nose. "Like this. Again."

And he opened his eyes to peer down at me, placing another chaste kiss to my lips before whispering against them, "Nice to see you, too."


End file.
